


Eye of the Storm

by Doom1713



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, But so is Tempest, Comfort, Eventual Fluff, M/M, OC isn’t mine but used with permission, Ornstein can’t express his feelings, Ornstein is a drama queen, So it sort of works out?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doom1713/pseuds/Doom1713
Summary: Ornstein and Tempest finally arrive at the Kiln of the First Flame, but now Ornstein has to face a choice: fulfill his duty and let Tempest burn, or save Tempest and end the Age of Fire he helped create? Maybe his memories will help him decide....
Relationships: Artorias the Abysswalker/Lord’s Blade Ciaran, Dragon Slayer Ornstein & Artorias The Abysswalker, Dragon Slayer Ornstein & Lord’s Blade Ciaran, Dragon Slayer Ornstein/Chosen Undead, Dragon Slayer Ornstein/Executioner Smough, Dragon Slayer Ornstein/Lord Gwyn’s Firstborn
Comments: 29
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrsLittletall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsLittletall/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Storm is coming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603610) by [MrsLittletall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsLittletall/pseuds/MrsLittletall). 



> PLEASE READ: I was inspired to write this by MrsLittletall. She was a huge asset in the writing process! Thank you again for giving me the honor of writing this fic! As a result, I do not own the CU in this story. Tempest belongs solely to MrsLittletall. Please check out her works! This work was inspired by A Storm is coming, so please read that before reading this for context! Hope you all enjoy!

A rush of wind filled the chamber, blowing dust off of the ancient statues, the flames sputtering in their braziers. Firelink Altar has been untouched by any soul, living or dead, for centuries. The altar served but one purpose: to grant the prophesied Chosen Undead access to Kiln of the First Flame, and subsequently, Lord Gwyn. They would link the First Flame, sacrificing their soul to prolong the Age of Fire. 

  
  


Tempest, however, was oblivious about what awaited him in the kiln, and that he was to be destroyed for the sake of mankind. He was excited to finally see the kiln and the challenges that lay in wait for him. Even the thought made him vibrate with anticipation. Ornstein was not so excited. His mood seemed to darken with each Lord Soul that came into their possession. Something was obviously bothering him, but Ornstein refused to give Tempest a straight answer as to why. 

  
  


Unlike the little Storm, Ornstein knew the true purpose of collecting the Lord Souls. The entire reason he had agreed to help Tempest on his journey was to rid himself of the idiot who stumbled into the Darkmoon Tomb, completely unprepared for the journey ahead of him. By the lords, that seemed so long ago…..

  
  


Tempest, unable to wait a second longer, hurriedly stepped up to the Lordvessel, which doubled as a bonfire. He accessed the bottomless box and retrieved the 4 Lord Souls. Each radiated light and warmth, like a miniature sun. Tempest took a moment to hold them, not quite believing what he held in his arms to be real. He was the new Great Lord! He was Gwyn’s successor, the one to link the First Flame, continue the Age of Fire, and reverse the curse of the Undead! He and Ornstein would return to Anor Londo victorious! 

  
  


As the little Storm began to place the Lord Souls into the Lordvessel one by one, Ornstein wrestled with his emotions. He still naively believed that, if he kept denying his feelings for the Undead, they would eventually leave him. But try as he may, Ornstein couldn’t cleanse his mind of his desire for the little Storm.

  
  


Placing the last Lord Soul into the Lordvessel, Tempest stepped back from the golden bowl as the flames roared. The heat radiating off of the massive tongues of fire caused Tempest’s leather armor to shrink even tighter against his skin. The massive set of stone doors behind the Lordvessel slowly creaked open, blinding light filling the chamber. Once opened, the doors revealed a descending staircase in a void of white light. 

  
  


“Remember little Storm,” Ornstein said. “Keep close. We don’t know what awaits us in the kiln.” 

  
  


The words had barely escaped Ornstein's lips before Tempest nearly tripped over his own feet as he rushed down the staircase. _Always running into situations without thinking things through_ Ornstein thought. Yet, he found this trait enduring. The little Storm reminded him of Artorias in that regard. Both were headstrong warriors, rushing into a fight with little to no preparation. But, unlike Artorias, Tempest was not an elite knight who’s skill with a sword was unrivaled in all of Lordran. Sighing, Ornstein followed the little Storm down the staircase.

  
  


He didn’t have to walk very far, as Tempest had stopped halfway down the staircase, and was obviously amazed by something. The little Storm turned to Ornstein as he approached, the look of wonder Ornstein had grown to cherish during their time together on his face. 

  
  


“What’s got you entranced now, little Storm?” huffed Ornstein. “Before you say anything, must I remind you that rushing into an unknown area has lead to difficult situations more often than not?”

  
  


“I’m sorry Ornstein, but I was just so excited!” said Tempest. “And to answer your question, look at the knights!”

  
  


Ornstein looked up, and sure enough, several ghostly knights were passing by. No doubt the souls of the knights assigned to accompany Lord Gwyn on his journey to the kiln. They were burned as fuel for the flame alongside Lord Gwyn, their souls now forever tied to the First Flame. Ornstein had to admit, the knights were fascinating. But there was no time to stand around gawking at them. They had to keep moving. The sooner the flame was linked, the sooner Ornstein could forget about the little Storm and move on. A world without the little Storm…..why did that scare him? Tempest was nothing more than a sacrifice, fuel for the flame. But…...he was so much more to Ornstein…….NO! He was a mere Undead that Ornstein had been forced to take care of, no more. 

  
  


“Yes, they’re amazing. Let’s continue on, shall we?” Ornstein said rather hurriedly.

  
  


“Hm? Oh, of course.” Tempest said. “We should keep goWHOA!!”

  
  


Ornstein had caught him before the little Storm could fall off of the staircase. “How about we focus less on the knights and more on where we are going, little Storm.”

  
  


“Sorry….” Tempest looked down at his boots. He could feel Ornstein glaring at him through his helm. “I promise to stay focused from now on.”

  
  


They continued down the staircase in silence. Tempest felt extremely embarrassed about almost falling off of the stairs. Every time he screwed up, he felt as if he was giving another reason for Ornstein to not like him. Tempest was fairly certain at this point that Ornstein liked him, but refused to say anything because, well, Ornstein wasn’t the type to be open about his feelings. He didn’t want to ruin the chance he had. Once the flame was linked and they were back in Arnor Londo, he would confess his feelings to Ornstein and see what his reaction was. At that point, he would have nothing to lose. 

  
  


  
Tempest was pulled from his thoughts as he and Ornstein reached the bottom of the staircase and the Kiln of the First Flame was revealed. The immediate landscape was covered in a thick layer of ash, with the remains of structures jutting out from the hard packed ash. The sky was cloudy, with patches of orange and gold breaking through here and there.

  
  


But the centerpiece of it all was the Kiln itself. Towering over the landscape, the kiln was in ruins. The walls and pillars were crumbling, entire sections of the structure missing or eroding away. Several support pillars stretched up to the sky, making the structure appear as if it was reaching for the sun itself. However, even in it’s neglected state, the kiln was a sight to behold. It commanded a certain amount of respect and awe, dominating the landscape. The kiln had an eerie beauty to it, an air of mystery and intrigue that immediately captured both Ornstein and Tempest.

  
  


“I…...I’m at a loss for words. It’s beautiful.” Tempest said. “Have you ever been here Ornstein?” 

  
  


“Hm? Oh, no. I was not part of the expedition to link the flame, as I’m still very much alive.” said Ornstein. “And, for once, I have to agree with you little Storm. This place is beautiful…...just like you.” he added in a whisper.

  
  


Tempest almost gave himself whiplash from turning his head so fast. Had…...had he heard Onstein right? Had he just called Tempest beautiful? That couldn’t be possible, right?

  
  


“Wh….what did you say Ornstein? Y…...you think I’m beautiful?” stuttered Tempest, hardly believing what he was hearing.

  
  


_Shit, he heard me!_ Ornstein broke out in a sweat. Tempest was looking up, straight into Ornstein's eyes, a hopeful look on his face. Damn, he was too attached to the little Storm. His attempts to convince himself that he was only a sacrifice for the flame had failed. He had feelings for the little Storm. And now he was going to lose another person close to him.

“What? No! Why would I say that!?” Ornstein said defensively. “You must have misheard me.”

  
  


Tempest looked hurt. “Are…...are you sure? I…..I’m pretty sure I heard you correctly.”

  
  


“Yes I’m sure.” The little Storm visibly deflated at the comment, hope turning into sadness as he broke eye contact and resumed looking at his shoes. “Enough talk, we need to keep moving.”

  
  


Seeing the little Storm hurting felt as if someone had punched Ornstein in the gut. He hated when Tempest was unhappy. But it was for his own good. The little Storm would soon be nothing but fuel for the First Flame, and Ornstein would be alone once more. 

  
  


They walked in silence, Tempest jogging to stay in front of Ornstein. Ornstein could hear the little Storm sniffling, and every few steps he noticed a small wet spot in the tracks Tempest left behind.

  
  


The little Storm was crying.

As Tempest rounded a ash dune, his eyes locked onto a black knight. Not stopping to evaluate the situation, Tempest rushed forward. His parry timing as impeccable as ever, he bashed the knights sword away and rammed his straight sword into the knights crotch. His training with Ornstein had shaped him into a formidable warrior, so his strikes were much more forceful than when he had started this quest, easily dispatching the knight. Ornstein…….why did he have to make things so difficult? Tempest knew he had heard Ornstein correctly. He had called him beautiful. But why did he deny it? Tempest knew that Ornstein had a hard time expressing himself, but this was ridiculous! 

  
  


Ornstein witnessed the confrontation with the black knight. The little Storm moved with grace and purpose, batting the heavy sword away and plunging his own blade into the knight. If Ornstein didn’t know better, he would say that the little Storm was a knight. He would certainly have made it into the ranks of the silver knights, if they existed at the time.

  
  


Tempest picked up a large chunk of titanite that the knight had dropped, pocketing it and turning towards Ornstein, waiting for him to catch up. It was the same type of thing that Artorias would do when they were on missions together. Artorias would charge ahead while Ornstein tried to come up with a plan. By the time that he caught up with Artorias, he would find Artorias waiting, and as soon as Ornstein would get within ten feet of the wolf knight, he would run off again. There were very few times Ornstein saw combat while on a mission with Artorias.

  
  


Sure enough, as soon as he got close, the little Storm continued forward, almost like he was trying to keep his distance. Ornstein sighed and went after Tempest. So it was to his surprise when he rounded another ash hill and almost tripped over the little Storm, who was taking a sip from his Estus flask. 

  
  


“Hey Ornstein, there’s another black knight up ahead, would you like to take this one? You did say you enjoy sparring with them.” said Tempest.

  
  


“How thoughtful. I think I will take this one. Thank you little Storm.” Yet another thing Ornstein adored about Tempest: he was always thoughtful, concerned about others more than himself. 

  
  


Ornstein stepped forward, getting into a defensive stance as the knight charged him. It carried a large two-handed greatsword, similar to the knight they fought in the Undead Parish. These knights were the ones Ornstein had the least experience, as Artorias usually trained the knights who were to wield greatswords.

  
  


The knight swung its sword in wide arcs, Ornstein easily evading the slow attacks. The knight backed up before swinging its weapon over its head, catching Ornstein off-guard. He barely had enough time to block the blow with the shaft of his spear. The force of the blow vibrated Ornsteins arms, and put a sizable notch in his spear shaft. The last person to catch Ornstein like that was Artorias. 

  
  


As the two knights fought, more and more memories of Artorias began to ruin Ornstein’s concentration. All the good times came flooding back in vivid detail. Ornstein became so distracted by the memories of his fallen comrade that the black knight was able to get past his defenses, almost striking him. Luckily, Ornstein was able to recognize the threat and sidestep the attack. In response, he buried his spear into the knights stomach, piercing the thick armor of the knight. 

  
  


“Nice job Ornstein.” Tempest said. “Thought the knight would get the better of you for a second. Shall we continue forward?”

  
  


“Actually, could we take a quick rest?”Ornstein asked. 

  
  


“Of course. Did that knight somehow tire you out? joked Tempest. Of course he didn’t mean it. He had never seen Ornstein tired.

  
  


“Not exactly.” said Ornstein. In reality, he wanted a moment to collect himself. The thoughts of Artorias had overtaken his mind. The good, the bad, and the ugly. No matter how hard he tried, Ornstein couldn’t get the memories of Artorias out of his head. As he attempted to repress the memories of his friend, a particularly important one surfaced: the first time that Ornstein had met Artorias. 

  
  


Ornstein couldn’t help it. He wanted some sort of comfort, and meeting Artorias was a major moment in his life. And so, as he stared off into the distance, Ornstein remembered the day he met Artorias. The day that changed Ornstein’s life.

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ornstein meets Artorias, as well as someone who will be a huge part of his life later....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please check out MrsLittletall’s works!

“Be careful Ornstein! Be back before dark! And don’t wander outside of the village boundaries!”

  
  


Ornstein’s mother called after her son, who was eager to get out of their home. It was the first time he would be allowed to go out into the village on his own. He had only seen 3 winters, yet he had somehow convinced his mother to let him explore on his own. The fact that she agreed was a surprise to him, especially with the constant fear of a dragon attack. Lord Gwyn, who ruled over the village, had vowed to one day destroy the dragons. But that day would not come for some time. 

  
  


As Ornstein wandered around the village, he moved quietly, as to not draw attention to himself. He had always been a quiet child, prefering to be alone with his thoughts. He had just found a nice secluded spot between two huts on the edge of the village when a tall boy went running by, yelling back at someone.

  
  


“I got it Mom! I’ll be back later! If I’m late for dinner, don’t wait up!”

  
  


Ornstein peeked his head around the corner to get a better look and the boy. He was easily a head taller than Ornstein, with a thin frame and long legs. Despite having just seen the boy for the first time, Ornstein’s interest was piqued. He decided to follow the boy, running up the path in a vain attempt to catch up to the boy.

  
  


Luckily for Ornstein, the boy didn’t go much farther before tripping on a rock that jutted up from the ground. He tumbled to the ground, kicking up a large cloud of dust. As the boy came to a stop, Ornstein heard him cry out, although it sounded more like excitement than pain.

  
  


“Oh, that hurt! Hey, look! My hand is bleeding! I hope it leaves a scar!”

  
  


Did….did the boy just say he wanted a scar? How peculiar. Who would be excited about an injury? Ornstein wondered if the boy had been dropped when he was a baby. Or maybe he got pleasure from pain. Either way, Ornstein would try and avoid the strange boy.

  
  


The boy stood, brushing himself off, grinning as he examined his wound. Ornstein backed into a small gap between two trees, hoping to hide himself from the boy. A twig snapped under his foot, drawing the attention of the boy, who easily spotted him and walked over, grinning.

  
  


“Hi there! How are you?” The boy said in a loud voice.  _ Is he always this loud? _ Ornstein thought.

  
  


“What’s your name?” the boy said, blood still dripping from the cut on his hand. 

  
  


“I….uh……” Ornstein stuttered. The boy looked properly insane, with his wide grin and bloody hand. Ornstein did the one thing that seemed rational at the time.

  
  


He ran. 

  
  


“Hey! Where are you going? I just wanna talk, that’s all! Did I scare you?”, the boy called after him but Ornstein didn’t stop until he was in his mother’s arm, tears streaking down his face.

  
  


Every day after their first encounter, the boy would try to say hello to Ornstein. Ornstein did his best to hide from the boy, but he was always discovered in his hiding spots. Each time, the boy would say he “just wanted to talk”, and each time, Ornstein would run away. 

  
  


After weeks of the same thing every day, Ornstein was at the end of his rope. Couldn’t the boy see that Ornstein didn’t want to talk to him? Why did the boy insist on trying to make friends with him? The next time he saw the boy, he would give him a piece of his mind.

  
  


That time came the next day. Ornstein had just finished his breakfast and was on his daily walk around the village. He had grown accustomed to this walk, especially enjoying the time he would spend looking at the sheep in the various pens that dotted the village. Every other animal that Ornstein would come across seemed to actively avoid him. But not the sheep. He longed for the day when he could step into the pen and play with them. But for now, he was relegated to standing at the fenceline, watching the sheep mill around and sometimes feeding a few that got close enough.

  
  


It was at one of these pens where Ornstein saw the boy waiting for him. The boy knew that Ornstein liked to look at the sheep, and would wait at a pen until Ornstein made his way there. 

  
  


Ornstein had prepared to tell the boy off, but as soon as he saw the boy, his resolve melted away, and fear overtook him. The boy saw him, and approached him as usual. Ornstein tried to run away, but tripped over his own feet in his haste. He put his hands out to stop his fall, scraping his palms on the dirt.

  
  


The boy rushed over to see if Ornstein was ok. It was only a few minor scrapes on his hands, but the smaller boy had tears in his eyes and his lower lip quivered.

“Hey, are you ok? That looked like it hurt!” The boy said. “Oh, you’re bleeding. Where are your parents? We should get you to them.”

  
  


“T….they’re in our house, o…..over by the w..w….well” Ornstein said, trying not to cry in front of the boy. Ornstein was usually quite nimble, but he had managed to trip over his own feet. How embarrassing!

  
  


“Well. I’ll take you to your parents, alright? Everything’s going to be fine.” The boy’s words were surprisingly comforting. Was this really the same boy who just a few weeks ago Ornstein had seen celebrating an injury? Perhaps he had judged the boy too quickly. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as Ornstein had thought.

  
  


Once back at Ornstein’s home, the boy explained what had happened to Ornstein's mother and left. While she bandaged his hands, Ornstein’s mother told him that the boy seemed nice, having brought Ornstein home when he was hurt. 

  
  


“He’s a bit loud, but his heart is in the right place.” She said, finishing up Ornstein’s hands.

  
  


Ornstein stayed home for the next few days, letting his hands heal. He really had misjudged the boy. Yes he might be a bit strange, but he was just looking for friends. Maybe he should give the boy a second chance. 

  
  


The next day, Ornstein looked for the boy. He wasn’t hard to find, as Ornstein just had to follow the loud voice of the boy. He found the boy talking to the village blacksmith.

  
  


“Aww, come on!” complained the boy. “Why not?”

  
  


“Because your parents would have my head if I made a sword for you.” said the blacksmith. “Besides, any sword I made would be too heavy for you.”

  
  


“But Sen!”

  
  


“I’m sorry little one. That’s my final answer.”

  
  


The boy walked away from the blacksmith with a dejected look on his face, but perked up when he saw Ornstein. He walked over and said hello, fully expecting Ornstein to run away again. But to his surprise, the small boy actually approached him. 

  
  


“Hello! Nice seeing you again! How are your hands?” The boy said, his usual smile on his face. 

  
  


“Uh….they’re fine I guess…” Ornstein said, still quite uncomfortable around the boy. “Thank you for your help the other day.”

  
  


“No problem! Say, I never did get your name.” the boy said. “Would you be willing to tell me?”

  
  


Ornstein still had a few reservations about the boy, but by this point he deserved to at least know Ornstein's name.

  
  


“Uh….It’s Ornstein. What’s yours?”

  
  


The boy extended his hand. “Nice to meet you Ornstein! My name’s Artorias!”

  
  


“Nice to meet you Artorias. If you don’t mind me asking, why were you talking to the blacksmith about getting a sword?” said Ornstein.

  
  


“Oh, I was asking Sen for a sword because I want to start practicing my swordsmanship. I want to be a knight one day, so I figured why not start learning swordplay early?” 

  
  


That was understandable. Lord Gwyn accepted only the best warriors into the ranks of his army. If Artorias wanted to join as a knight, he would need to be a master with a sword. 

  
  


“What do you want to do when you grow up Ornstein? Are you going to be a knight as well?” Artorias asked.

  
  


“I uh….I don’t really know. It’s going to be a long time till I grow up, so I have plenty of time…….right?” Ornstein never really thought about what he was going to do when he grew up. Most of his thoughts never extended past a few days in the future.

  
  


“Yeah I suppose you do have a while before you have to think about what you want to do. But I know I want to be a knight. In fact, I’m going to be the best knight in history.”

  
  


Ornstein almost laughed. Did Artorias really think he could be the best knight in history? Artorias probably had a better chance getting Lord Gwyn to hug a dragon. But Ornstein said nothing. He didn’t want to make Artorias feel bad for dreaming big.

  
  


“Uh….good luck with that I suppose….” mumbled Ornstein.

  
  


A commotion over by the edge of the woods drew Ornstein and Artorias’s attention.

  
  


“Hey Smough! What have you got there? Another squirrel you just ‘happened’ to find dead?”

  
  


“Are you gonna eat it? Because you don’t look like you need any more food!” 

  
  


“So desperate for friends, he had to resort to dead animals!”

  
  


A group of older boys were heckling a heavyset boy by the woods. They hurled rocks, sticks, and words at the boy, who they had called Smough. Smough tried to shield himself with his arms with less-than-effective results. 

  
  


“Stop it! Please!” the large boy yelled. He stumbled over his own feet, falling to the ground. The older boys howled with laughter as they encircled Smough. “You’re hurting me! Please stop!”

  
  


As Ornstein looked on, a fire began to burn in his chest. He didn’t know Smough, but he did know that no one deserved the treatment that Smough was receiving. But Ornstein couldn’t do anything about it. They were bigger than he was, not to mention their strength in numbers. All he could do was watch on with clenched fists.

  
  


And then the kicking started.

  
  


Having surrounded Smough, who still had not recovered from his fall, the older boys began to kick him. Smough curled up into a fetal position, trying in vain to get the boys to stop their onslaught with cries of “Ow!” and “Stop!”. Before Smough could cry out again, a kick caught him in the temple. He went limp, knocked unconscious as the kicks continued to rain down.

  
  


A rock slammed into the head of one of the boys, causing the others to cease their torment of Smough in an attempt to identify the origins of the projectile. Another rock caught a boy in the stomach, revealing the thrower to the rest of the group.

  
  


Ornstein, knowing that he had been found, charged forward with a broom he had found inside the door of a nearby house. He had no idea what he was doing, but he knew one thing: no one deserved what had been done to Smough. He was determined to get the boys to stop, at the expense of his physical well-being.

  
  


Seeing this small boy charging them with a broom, the older boys couldn’t help but laugh. This kid had no idea what he had just brought upon himself. So it was to their surprise when the small boy swung the broom handle in a wide arc, striking one of the boys in the temple. Despite the broom handle being blunt, Ornstein could already see blood seeping from the wound as the boy crumpled to his knees. Ornstein swung the broom handle again, this time hitting the shin of another boy. 

  
  


The older boys, now recovered from the initial shock of being attacked by someone much smaller than themselves, began to retaliate. They mostly tried to get the broom away from Ornstein, as its handle gave him the reach advantage. Eventually, their larger size and numbers overwhelmed the smaller boy. Ornstein managed to get one more hit before the broom was wrestled from his grasp, bringing it up between the legs of a boy with all his might. The boy collapsed with a whimper as Ornstein was tackled by two of the boys. They took the broom from him and grabbed his arms, dragging Ornstein into a standing position.

  
  


The boy who Ornstein had hit in the head grabbed the broom and began to whale on Ornstein. The boy broke the handle over Ornstein's head and started to hit the small boy with his bare fists. Multiple punches connected with Ornstein's head, jaw, and gut. Each hit had him reeling as the others began to join in, beating Ornstein with gusto.

  
  


“Hey idiots! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size!” The older boys stopped their assault to see who was speaking.

  
  


Artorias held the broken broom handle in one hand and a small leather shield in the other, likely swiped from the blacksmith when they weren’t looking. He pointed the broom handle at the group of boys.

  
  


“Step away from Ornstein, or this may get ugly.” Artorias said, his voice dripping with malevolence.

  
  


“Oh, come on Artorias! You can’t really be friends with this squirt, right?” one of the boys said. “Since when did you start talking to this kid?”

  
  


Artorias sighed and assumed a pretty decent fighting stance for never having used a sword, or any weapon for that matter.

  
  


“Right around the time I stopped talking to you guys.”

  
  


Ornstein couldn’t see much of what happened from where the boys had dumped him on the ground, but what he could see was Artorias gracefully whirling through the boys, hitting their heads and stomachs with his improvised weapon. Not only was Artorias giving out plenty of punishment, he also seemed to be avoiding every attack that was launched at him. He ducked, weaved, blocked fists with his shield. After several minutes of muffled thwacks and cries of pain, the sound of pounding feet faded away as the older boys ran home. 

  
  


Artorias, not even winded by the fight, rushed over to Ornstein, lifting him to his feet and checking him over. Ornstein had a nasty gash on his left arm from a rock on the ground and an eye that was already starting to swell, but was relatively unharmed from the encounter. Sadly, the same had not been true for Smough.

  
  


The large boy had regained consciousness, but was still unmoving. Every part of his body hurt from the brutal assault. His face was bloody and one of his fingers was bent at a sickening angle. 

  
  


“Smough, are you ok?” Artorias asked, once he was sure that Ornstein was ok.

  
  


“S…..stay…...away…...from…...me…..” Smough managed to say. “Don’t…...want…...you…….to…..get…..hurt….”

  
  


“Smough, I don’t care if those boys come back with 40 more of them, I’m not letting them hurt you. Can you stand?” said Artorias.

  
  


“I….I think so….”

  
  


“Ornstein, could you help me get Smough to his feet please” Artorias asked. 

  
  


“Of course.”

  
  


Once they hauled Smough to his feet, they supported him as they made their way to Smough’s home. They were silent for most of the slow journey, until Smough spoke up.

  
  


“I woke up as you charged them with that broom…..Ornstein, was it? Thank you for that. I don’t know what they would’ve done if you hadn’t. And thank you Artorias for getting them away from us. You were amazing.”

  
  


Both boys blushed a bit as they neared Smough’s home. His father was a butcher, and the smell of smoked meat drifted across this part of the village. 

  
  


“I think I can get there by myself now.” Smough said. “Thanks again for your help.”

  
  


Smough slowly limped to his home, his mothers eyes widening as her baby boy showed her his injuries. Meanwhile, Ornstein and Artorias made their way around the village, talking about the encounter with the group of boys.

  
  


“You should of seen yourself Ornstein! The way you charged in was truly amazing! You seem like a natural with a spear.” said Artorias.

  
  


“I could say the same about you Artorias. You showed those guys. Thank you for helping me and Smough. You’re a good guy.” Ornstein said.

  
  


“You are too Ornstein. Hey, you might get a cool scar out of this too! That cut on your arm looks kinda deep!” Ornstein looked at Artorias like he was crazy.

  
  


“Why would I want a scar?” asked Ornstein.

  
  


Artorias chuckled. “Sorry, I always forget that most people don’t think of scars the same way I do. To me, scars are the story of a knight’s life! Every scar on a knight’s body tells a tale of bravery and sacrifice. I love scars because, while you may forget about a certain event in your life, a scar will always remind you.”

  
  


Hmm…..that actually made sense now that Ornstein had heard Artorias’s reasoning. He decided right then and there that he would cherish every scar he got. 

  
  


“Hey, there’s Ciaran! Do I look alright? Is my hair messy? Are my teeth clean?” Artorias said while looking in the direction of a small girl who was helping her mother with hanging out clothes.

  
  


“Uh…..I guess? Why do you care?” said Ornstein .

  
  


“Because……..I kinda like that girl over there….” Artorias said sheepishly.

  
  


“Well why don’t you tell her that? Would be a lot better than worrying about your appearance all the time.” said Ornstein.

  
  


“What!? I couldn’t do that! I’m too scared!” Artorias said.

  
  


“You can take on a group of boys with nothing but a stick and a shield without thinking about it but you get scared from talking to a girl? Well, I guess that’s fine. I wouldn’t be able to tell her either if I were you.”

  
  


“Well...I’ll tell her one day…..but not right now.”

  
  


Ornstein chuckled. “Sounds like a deal.”

  
  


——————————————————————

  
  


Artorias and Ciaran…...Artorias had asked for her hand in marriage right before he left for Oolacile.....Ornstein could still remember that awful day. The day he lost more than just a loyal knight. It was the day he lost his closest friend.

  
  


Tears spattered the inside of Ornstein's helmet as he was swallowed by the memory of that fateful day.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sucked having to write about Smough and Ornstein getting smacked around


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ornstein relives the series of events that lead to Artorias's death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, this is a long chapter! Really enjoyed writing some parts, really hated writing others. Artorias is one of my favorite characters, so It wasn't easy having to kill him.
> 
> As always, check out MrsLittletall's works!

“Commander, I have a message for you. It’s urgent.”

  
  


Ornstein looked up from the reports on his desk. The messenger had her helm on, but her voice told Ornstein that the Silver Knight was one of his lieutenants, Gale. He liked Gale. She was calculating, loyal, and fierce in combat. She also had a huge crush on Ornstein, and it seemed that everyone knew it but her.

  
  


“Thank you Gale.” He broke the wax seal and read the message. His emerald green eyes widened as they flicked back and forth across the page. “Notify the other knights to meet me in the briefing room immediately.”

  
  


“Yes sir.” Gale gave a quick bow and hurried out of Ornstein’s room. 

  
  


The letter was from Gough, a retired Knight of Gwyn. He had gone to Oolacile some time ago, after the Dragon War had ended. Oolacile had been overrun by the Abyss, and it was only a matter of time until the town was unsavable. 

  
  


There was only one knight Ornstein could think of that would be able to restore order to Oolacile. Artorias was immensely powerful, and had a covenant with the Abyss, giving him the ability to traverse it’s darkness and fight it’s monsters. 

Ornstein was uneasy about ordering Artorias to Oolacile. He and Ciaran had been together for some time now, and Artorias had confided in Ornstein that he planned to ask for her hand in marriage soon. If the situation in Oolacile turned out to be too much for the noble knight…….no. Artorias would succeed as he always had. There was no reason to worry. Gough had made the situation out to be nothing more than corruption of the townsfolk. Child’s play for the likes of Artorias. 

  
  


Still…..Ornstein had a bad feeling about the entire situation. Something about the way Gough described the corruption made him feel like there was more to it. Ornstein pushed the thoughts out of his head as he headed towards the briefing room. He was just overthinking things as usual. No reason to worry.

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

  
  


“I’ll go.”

  
  


As expected, those were the first words out of Artorias’s mouth after Ornstein had briefed him and Ciaran on the situation in Oolacile. It was in his nature to protect those who could not protect themselves. 

  
  


“Of course Artorias. I expected nothing less.” Ornstein said. “You leave at dawn. Send us word when you get to Oolacile. Meeting adjourned.”

  
  


Ciaran and Artorias left together, hands entwined as Ciaran whispered something into Artorias’s ear with some difficulty, with him having to bend over to allow her access. There was an extreme size difference between the two, but it didn’t stop them from being intimate. In fact, Ornstein suspected that Ciaran enjoyed their difference in height. Whatever the case, Artorias grinned broadly upon hearing whatever Ciaran had said. No doubt she had plans for the last night they would be spending together for a while. 

  
  


The sight of the two of them so happy gave Ornstein some conflicting emotions. On one hand, he was elated that Artorias and Ciaran were so happy together. Artorias had been smitten with her for centuries. He had finally declared his desires to her after the Dragon War. It took awhile for her to warm up to him, but eventually she accepted his advances. They had been together ever since.

But at the same time…..Ornstein was resentful. He was once just like them. Him and his master had been inseparable until the Dragon War broke out. His master had sided with the dragons, and in response, Lord Gwyn had exiled him from Anor Londo, removed his name from history, and cast his shrine down into the land of mortals. 

  
  


Ornstein had…..not dealt with his emotions in the best way. He had done things he wasn’t proud of. The countless nights of tears, curled up in the darkest corner of his room. His debauched form splayed across his masters shrine, passed out in a drunken stupor after defiling the holy statue. He felt like he would never love again. He couldn’t bear to have his heart broken once more.

  
  


Ornstein wanted them to stop, wanted them to hate each other, wanted them to think of how he felt seeing them like that. And he felt awful for thinking in such a way. Artorias and Ciaran deserved to be happy. They didn’t know that he was hurting. He wouldn’t let them know how broken he actually was. He was Lord Ornstein, the dragonslayer, captain of the Knights of Gwyn. He could show no weakness, or risk being seen as soft and not fit for his position. But his body had other ideas.

  
  


Ornstein stepped out of the briefing room, his legs already beginning to shake as a breakdown approached. He made his way back to his room, stopping only to bow to Lord Gwyn as he passed by. Ornstein entered his room, locking the door behind him.

  
  


It started, as it always did, in the pit of his stomach. A sinking feeling, similar to what he felt when he saw fire. A sense of panic and despair, all concentrated in one spot. Ornstein fell to his knees, golden armor scraping on stone flags as he ripped off the snarling visage of the lion Ornstein hid behind. The feeling in the pit of his stomach began to radiate out, slowly at first, but eventually enveloping his senses. Hot tears streamed down Ornstein's face, splattering on the floor as he sobbed. 

  
  


_Keep it together_

  
  
  


_Keep it together_

  
  


Over and over, Ornstein repeated the mantra he had adopted. He had to be strong. Too many people depended on his leadership, too many of his knights looked to him as a beacon of strength and resolve. He could not be seen like this, sobbing over love lost centuries ago.

  
  


Still shaking, Ornstein slowly got to his feet, grabbing his helm as he stood. He took in a few deep breaths while he waited for his knees to stop quivering. 

  
  


“Ornstein? Is everything alright?”

  
  


Ornstein whipped his head around with a start, staring in horror at the door. It was Artorias! How long had he been listening? A fresh wave of panic surged through Ornstein, his eyes wide as he fumbled with his helm.

  
  


“Is now not the best time? I can leave if you wish.” Artorias’s muffled voice held a hint of concern.

  
  


“No, no it’s alright, I’ll be there in a second.”

  
  


Strapping his helm back on, Ornstein hurried over to the door, opening it to find an unarmored Artorias staring back at him.

  
  


“Hello Artorias. To what do I owe the pleasure? And may I ask what you’ve done with your armor? It’s not like you to go anywhere without it.”

  
  


“Oh, well…” Artorias said sheepishly, “Ciaran gets a bit...ravenous before either of us leave on a mission. I could barely pull myself away from her to come talk to you”

  
  


“Well, I do hope you didn’t leave her waiting to tell me about your life in the bedroom, Artorias. You and I both know that Ciaran hates being forced to wait for something. Especially if that something is you.” Ornstein huffed.

  
  


“Oh, of course not! I wanted to ask a favor of you, if you would be so kind.” 

  
  


_What would Artorias need me for?_

  
  


“What kind of favor, Artorias?”

  
  


Artorias blushed as he spoke, rubbing the back of his neck as he made his request.

  
  


“Well...with the situation in Oolacile coming up so quickly, I decided that it was time to propose to Ciaran, and she said yes! So please...would you be my best man?”

  
  


Ornstein stood in the doorway for a moment, dumbfounded. Was this real? Had Artorias just asked him to be the best man at his wedding?

  
  


“Are...are you sure you want me, of all people, to fill such a meaningful role?” Ornstein said, hardly believing what was happening to be real.

  
  


“You’ve been my friend since we were children Ornstein! I cannot think of another being alive or dead that I would rather have by my side on the happiest day of my life.”

Tears of joy welled up in the corners of Ornstein’s eyes, a rare smile spreading across his face. Ornstein unstrapped his helm, pulling it off and letting it fall to the floor with a clang. 

  
  


“It would be my honor.”

  
  


Artorias stuck his hand out, but instead was pulled into a bear hug by the shorter knight, laughing as he patted Ornstein on the back.

  
  


“Thank you Ornstein. It really means a lot to me that you’ve agreed to this.”

  
  


Ornstein released Artorias from his grip and bent down to grab his helm. One of the tips on the decorative “mane” was slightly bent, but Ornstein didn’t care. He was on top of the world.

  
  


But...what if Artorias didn’t come back from Oolacile? Was it wise of him to have asked for Ciaran’s hand in marriage if he could be dead within a week? How would Ciaran react?

  
  


“But, if I may, do you think it wise to have asked Ciaran to marry you hours before going on a mission that could leave you dead? Ciaran would be devastated!” Ornstein said, a bit of panic seeping into his voice.

  
  


Artorias chuckled. “I’ll be fine Ornstein. Gough didn’t sound like it was horribly urgent, so it can’t be that bad. Just some corrupted townsfolk. Easy mission. I’ll probably be back before sunup three days from now.”

  
  


Ornstein still felt uneasy about the entire series of events. The sudden corruption of Oolacile, the vagueness of Gough's letter, Artorias proposing to Ciaran. That all couldn’t be a coincidence, right?

  
  


“Lord Artorias! Urgent message to you from Lady Ciaran! She requests your presence in her chambers immediately.”

  
  


A winded Gale approached the knights. She had abandoned her helm in her rush to deliver the message. A line of sweat ran down the side of her face, a result of her running up and down staircases in full plate mail.

“Please sir, do hurry. Lady Ciaran has very little patience left.”

  
  


Artorias grinned. “Well, I suppose I’d better get back to her. Before she has a few of her fellow Blades kidnap me. And thank you again Ornstein.. I look forward to your speech.”

  
  


And with that, Artorias ran off, bare feet slapping the flags as he rushed back to his beloved. 

  
  


Gale, still huffing from her romp through the castle, looked up at Ornstein. He could see a bit of redness in her cheeks, and it probably wasn’t the result of her impromptu exercise. It occurred to him that she had probably never seen him without his helm off. He quickly became self-conscious and strapped his helm back on.

  
  


“If I may be so bold, what speech was Lord Artorias referring to?” Gale asked. “ I do not know of any gatherings happening in the near future.”

  
  


So Artorias had not told anyone else about his proposal to Ciaran. And with good reason, Ornstein surmised. That kind of news would spread fast. Both Artorias and Ciaran mostly kept to themselves, so naturally they would keep their engagement quiet until they felt the time was right.

  
  


“It’s nothing you should be worried about lieutenant.” Ornstein said. “Now, I want all the supplies that Lord Artorias may need for his mission packed up tonight. He leaves at dawn, and will be….preoccupied throughout the night. So have a horse and his supplies ready at the Sen’s entrance at first light. Do not disappoint me.”

  
  


“Yes sir.” Gale said, snapping Ornstein a quick salute before hurring off to gather a few other knights to assist her. 

  
  


That night, Ornstein found that rather than sleeping, his mind raced with the horrible proposition that Artorias may not come back from Oolacile. What if Gough was wrong, and the corruption in Oolacile was beyond the power of even Artorias? How would he continue on without his best friend? How would Ciaran cope with the loss of her lover? So many “what ifs” ran through his head, putting him at risk for another breakdown. Eventually, he qualmed the conflict in his head and fell into a restless sleep. 

But his fears followed him into his dreams. But…..these were no ordinary dreams. They were almost like premonitions. He saw Artorias cutting his way through possesed gardeners of the Royal Woods, cleaving a tree in twain as one of them dodged the mighty swing of his blessed greatsword. He saw grotesque creatures charging Artorias, unnaturally long limbs flailing as the knight managed to keep them at bay. 

  
  


But the last image….the last image made Ornstein’s blood run cold. He saw Artorias sprawled on the ground, his armor corroded and his sword nowhere to be seen. He was crawling desperately away from an unseen threat, reaching for something out of Ornstein’s view. Just as his hand gasped whatever he was reaching for, a massive staff came arching out from the darkness, connecting with Artorias’s arm with a wet crack. Artorias roared in pain, one last sound of defiance against what was a sealed fate. Tendrils of darkness began to coil around the wolf knight, forcing their way into his mouth, his ears, his eyes, and his nose. Every orifice was penetrated by Abyssal corruption. And in the awful sounds of metal armor being shredded, Ornstein heard Artorias utter his last words.

  
  


“I’m sorry Ciaran.”

  
  


Ornstein awoke in a cold sweat, his stomach churning as the images he had seen ran through his head over and over. He had to stop Artorias from embarking on the mission. Ornstein hurriedly threw on his golden armor as the sun’s first rays began to show on the horizon. 

  
  


Ornstein had just made it to the entrance to the Sen’s entrance when Gale, accompanied by a few other knights, arrived with the supplies and horse she had been ordered to gather. Ornstein was about to tell them to turn and take the supplies back to the cathedral when Artorias, greatshield on his back and greatsword resting on his left shoulder, rounded a corner and came into view of the knight-commander.

  
  


“Ah, Lord Ornstein! This is a pleasant surprise. Have you cone to see me off?”

  
  


Ornstein marched up to the taller knight. He could not let Artorias leave Anor Londo. What he had seen had been too real. He forbade Artorias from executing the mission. 

  
  


“Artorias, please return to the cathedral. You will not be going to Oolacile.”

  
  


Artorias stopped dead in his tracks, his hand visibly tightening around the hilt of his sword.

  
  


In a calm voice, Artorias asked, “Why will I not be allowed to begin my journey?”

  
  


“I do not recall needing to inform you of why I make my decisions. Return to the cathedral at once, Artorias.”

  
  


Artorias lowered his hood, a mask of calm on his face that barely hid the anger that now simmered beneath the surface.

  
  


“Does this have something to do with what we talked about yesterday?” Artorias asked, his brow creasing.

  
  


“Partially, yes. It’s not wise to leave Ciaran after what happened!” Ornstein exclaimed. “Not only that, but...I saw things in my dreams last night, visions of you going to Oolacile. I...I saw you die to the Abyss, corrupted by its darkness. Please, do not go to Oolacile Artorias.. Do not leave Ciaran to mourn. Please…”

  
  


“Ornstein...you know I have to go. I have my duty to Lord Gwyn to fight the Abyss. I wish I didn’t have to go, especially now. But I must. I’m glad you worry about my well-being. It means more than you know. But I’ll be fine. Like I said, this will be an easy mission. I’ll make it back. In the meantime, please keep Ciaran calm and comfort her if she needs it. She’s worried sick about my departure. I’ll send word when I reach Oolacile.”

  
  


Artorias gave Ornstein a warm smile, any trace of anger gone as he flipped his hood back over his head. 

  
  


“I will Artorias, I will.” Ornstein said, determination thick in his voice.

  
  


“Till we meet again, Ornstein. I shall return soon, I promise.”

  
  


Ornstein watched as Artorias mounted his horse, saluted Gale, and rode off through the gate, kicking up what little debris was on the road as he disappeared into the distance.

  
  


Ornstein trudged back to the cathedral, passing by the giant sentinels as he entered the great hall. He had not made it more than a few steps into the massive structure when a familiar voice spoke, sarcasm dripping from every word.

  
  


“Good day Ornstein. How can I assist our dragonslayer today?”

  
  


It was Smough, the royal executioner. It was a rare sight to see him out of the dungeon, but seeing as there was no major conflict in motion at the time, he was a bit short on prisoners.

  
  


“Hello Smough. As unpleasant as ever I see. And do I have to remind you yet again that it’s Commander Ornstein?”

  
  


Smough chuckled, a deep rumble that reverberated in Ornstein’s skull. “Well _Commander_ Ornstein, I wouldn’t be so unpleasant if you and your Lord would see reason with my request. With Gough gone, there seems to be an opening in the Four Knights of Gwyn. There is no other knight in the land more fit for such a role than I. So why not rethink your decision?”

  
  


Ornstein clenched his fists. “We’ve been over this Smough. You know full-well why we cannot let you join the Knights. And besides, Gough may come back one day, so his position remains closed for now.”

  
  


In reality, Ornstein knew that Gough had retired permanently. But the thought of Smough in the position that Gough once held made him sick.

  
  


“Oh please,” Smough retorted. “Gough was washed up after the Dragon War. It would be better for all of us if he stayed retired.”

  
  


“Caution, Smough. You do not want to provoke me today.” Ornstein said, clipping every word off as he tried to contain his rage.

  
  


“And what will you do to me Ornstein? If Gwynsen was as ineffective at training you as he was at picking sides in the war, I’ll have no trouble taking you down.” 

  
  


“DO NOT SAY HIS NAME!” Ornstein screamed, crouching down in preparation to lunge at the heavyset executioner.

  
  


“Commander Ornstein! Message from Lady Ciaran.”

Poor Gale once again had ran across the cathedral to deliver a message, huffing as she stopped near her commander.

  
  


“Lady Ciaran requires you in the briefing room, Commander.”

  
  


Ornstein was tempted to tell Gale to give Ciaran his regards, but he had given Artorias his word. He stood up from his crouched position, eyes still locked on Smough.

“Remember yourself Smough.” Ornstein spat. “Count yourself lucky that I have other matters to attend to.”

  
  


Ornstein turned and marched out of the hall, not waiting for Smough's response. Gale followed after him, still waiting for orders.

  
  


“Sir! Orders please!” Gale called after her commander.

  
  


Ornstein paused for a moment, then spoke.

  
  


“Walk with me lieutenant.”

“A...are you sure? I don’t want to keep you…” Gale stammered.

  
  


Ornstein stopped and looked back at Gale.

  
  


“That’s an order Gale.”

  
  


Gale silently obeyed, and the two of them walked through the halls of the cathedral, Ornstein purposely keeping the pace slow. He wanted a few minutes to ask Gale a question.

  
  


“So, why are you running all of these messages lieutenant? Shouldn’t one of your subordinates be doing that instead?” 

  
  


“Well, I did send a runner to Lady Ciaran, but both times she requested someone of rank to run the messages. She said she wanted someone who would get the message to its recipient as fast as possible. Although every Silver Knight knows their way around the cathedral as well as I do. But it’s not my place to argue with her.” Gale said.

  
  


“Ah. Good on you then for following her requests. Just wanted to make sure that one of my better lieutenants wasn’t getting sloppy.” Ornstein said. 

As they approached the briefing room, Ornstein turned to face Gale. She turned as well.

  
  


“Orders, sir?” Gale asked.

  
  


“You may not see me today as often as you would usually. I’m entrusting command to you for the day. Do not disappoint me.” Ornstein said. He stuck out his hand. “Good luck commander.”

  
  


It took Gale a few moments before accepting the handshake. Her grip was firm but shaky, a sign of nervousness. Whether it was because of the responsibility she had been given or the fact that she was shaking hands with the one she admired, Ornstein did not know. Perhaps a bit of both. 

  
  


As Gale set off to rouse her troops, Ornstein entered the briefing room. There were no windows, but the room was usually full of light thanks to several braziers filled with divine light. But now, the braziers were dark, and the only light came from a few lit candles on the center table. 

  
  


That was where Ornstein found Ciaran. She had her usual robes on, but had placed her mask on the table. She was sitting in one of the chairs, hunched over something. Ornstein was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable when he heard it: a soft sniff followed by the faint sound of drops of liquid hitting the stone floor.

  
  


Ciaran, the Lord’s Blade, assassin and one of the Knights of Gwyn, was crying.

  
  


She hadn’t heard him come in, which was a surprise to Ornstein. Even after he had mastered the art of moving silently in his armor, Ciaran always knew when he had entered a room without seeing him. She was an assassin, after all.

  
  


Even though Ornstein wanted to comfort her, he figured that he would make his presence known to her before getting any closer. If Ornstein startled her, there was a good chance that he would end up with a dagger in his neck before he knew it. 

  
  


“You requested my presence, Ciaran?”

  
  


She looked up from her hands, her eyes red and puffy. The dancing light of the candles made her eyes and cheeks appear sunken and hollow. She quickly wiped the tears out of her eyes and turned in her chair to look at Ornstein.

  
  


“Ornstein...thank you for coming. I wanted to talk to you about something I think you would know quite a lot about.”

  
  


Her voice was shaky, and it looked like she was barely keeping it together. 

  
  


“And...what would that be?” Ornstein said.

  
  


“How…how do you do it?”

Confused, Ornstein asked, “...May I ask what you are referring to?”

  
  


Ciaran beckoned for him to come closer. Ornstein knelt next to the assassin, keeping a small distance between the two of them. Ornstein had never really gotten to know Ciaran that well, even though they had known each other for centuries. On top of that, she was to be wed to Artorias, so he respected her space even more now.

  
  


“How do you get up in the morning? How do you find the strength to keep going with everything that you’ve been through?” Ciaran sobbed as she threw her arms around Ornstein, startling him and creating a very awkward situation for him.

  
  


Well…Artorias had asked him to comfort Ciaran if she needed it. And he was a knight of his word. Ornstein slowly brought up his arms, making sure to notice anything that suggested that Ciaran was becoming uncomfortable. He gently wrapped his arms around her small frame, making sure to not overstep her boundaries.

  
  


Tears rolled down her face, dripping onto Ornstein’s armor. Usually he tried to keep his armor as pristine as possible, but in the moment he didn’t care. Ciaran was hurting, so the condition of his armor was the least of his worries. What he was worried about, besides how Ciaran was feeling, was what she meant by “what you’ve been through”.

  
  


“Ciaran, what did you mean when you said ‘what you’ve been through’?”

  
  


She pulled away, wiping her eyes as she settled back down into her chair. 

  
  


“I...I know what you’ve been through. With your master. When he was exiled, I was tasked by Lord Gwyn to shadow you. He knew you and him were involved, and he wanted to make sure you didn’t do anything…drastic. I followed you out of Anor Londo several times. You were usually quite drunk, so it wasn’t hard to go unnoticed. I…I saw what you did to his statue. And frankly I’m amazed that you’re still sane. You lost the most important person in your life and yet you still forge ahead. Meanwhile I can’t even keep myself from crying when…when he leaves for a mission…”

  
  


A fresh wave of tears began to flow as Ciaran buried her face in her hands. Ornstein, lost for words, removed his helm and pulled her into a hug. She flinched at his initial touch, but quickly had her arms around Ornstein again, crying into his neck as he held her, his mind swimming with questions. Why did she never tell him that she knew what he had been through? Had Lord Gwyn really asked her to follow him? Why did Ciaran not hate him for what he had done? But the most prominent question was, if Ciaran and his Lord knew that Ornstein had been broken by his master’s betrayal, who else did? Was all the hiding of his emotions for naught?

  
  


Instead of seeking answers, Ornstein continued to hold Ciaran until her tears ceased. 

  
  


“I…I’m sorry for springing this upon you so fast. You don’t deserve to deal with this…” Ciaran said as she pulled back once more, her stormy grey eyes now bloodshot. “You already have enough to worry about…”

  
  


“Ciaran, there’s no need to be sorry. I’m here for you, that’s all that matters. I can see why you’re upset. I didn’t want Artorias to leave either. Not after he proposed to you. Yes, he told me. That’s why he was gone for a while last night. He asked me to be his best man. But that’s besides the point. What is important is that it’s alright to be worried. It’s normal to be upset when someone you love is in a dangerous situation. Your tears are completely justified. Don’t be ashamed of your emotions.” Ornstein said.

  
  


Ciaran looked up at Ornstein, a small smile on her lips.

  
  


“He asked you to be his best man? Did you accept?”

  
  


“Of course I did. How could I not?” 

  
  


“That’s wonderful! But...what I really wanted you here for was some advice. You’ve managed to continue on after you had your heart broken. How do I master my emotions? I can’t be like this every time Artorias is off on a mission. I have a duty to our Lord and I can’t break down every few weeks. So how did you learn to control yourself Ornstein?”

  
  


Ornstein was, in fact, not the person to be giving advice on that subject. In all reality, he hadn’t gotten over the betrayal of his master. He just hid the pain until it exploded like it had yesterday. But...perhaps he could be of some use.

  
  


“Well, to tell the truth, I haven’t really controlled so much as repressed my emotions. I still have a bit of a breakdown every once in a while. But, I may have a temporary solution to your issue. Talking about what you feel is a powerful thing. Having someone to confide in helps to shoulder some of the burden. So, if you feel this way again, feel free to summon me. Unless you would rather not. I understand if you don’t want to, after all I’m not the best person for this.”

  
  


“Ornstein, you are the second person I would turn to if I had anything that was troubling me. I don’t think I have to tell you who the first person is, but the point still stands. I will take you up on your offer. Thank you.” Ciaran said.

  
  


Ciaran gave Ornstein a quick hug before standing and grabbing her mask. She placed it on her head as Ornstein stood, also fitting his helm back into place. 

  
  


“Thank you again Ornstein. For everything.”

  
  


“He’ll be back Ciaran. I know he will. And I’ll see to it personally that you two have the best wedding. I promise.”

  
  


Ciaran nodded, and was almost at the door when she turned towards Ornstein.

  
  


“Ornstein? I would like to reciprocate your offer. If you ever start feeling like you’re going to have a breakdown, don’t hesitate to send word to me. It’s the least I could do.”

  
  


“Of course Ciaran. Although I would tell Artorias of our arrangements. Don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

  
  


“Absolutely. Until next time Ornstein.”

  
  


“Until then Ciaran. Stay strong. He’ll be back before you know it.”

  
  


The next several hours were a blur of paperwork, meetings, and Gale coming to ask him a question. She had proved that she was more than capable of acting as a commander, but there were a few unique situations that occurred throughout the day that required his guidance. Ornstein had become so engrossed in his work that he didn’t even notice that the sun had set until Gale came to him with her daily report. Nothing too crazy, just a few scuffles in the ranks and a potential drake sighting. He thanked her, set aside his work for the night, and went to bed. 

  
  


That night, the visions returned. He saw the same tree, the same swarm of vile creatures, Artorias being killed in the same way. But this time, a fourth vision was added. He saw Ciaran weeping over the grave of Artorias, her hollow sobs echoing across the blackness. Slowly, she brought her eyes up to the direction in which Ornstein was. 

  
  


“You promised.”

  
  


Her tone was deadly even, growing in anger and regret as she continued.

  
  


“You promised and now he’s dead Ornstein! How could you let this happen!”

  
  


Ornstein tried to form a response, but all he could do was watch as the Abyss coiled around both Artorias’s grave and Ciaran. 

  
  


“He was wrong to trust you Ornstein. You betrayed him.” 

  
  


“Ciaran, come away from the grave. Quickly!”

  
  


“You killed him, you bastard!”

  
  


“Please Ciaran, the Abyss will corrupt you!”

  
  


“Oh, now you worry about the Abyss?! Where was that concern when you sent Artorias to meet his death?”

  
  


Ornstein was frantically trying to save his only friend from the inky tendrils that began to penetrate her body, but to no avail.

  
  


“Ciaran…..please…..”

  
  


“You disgrace Artorias’s name. Goodbye Ornstein.”

  
  


“NO! CIARAN! PLEASE!” Ornstein wailed, but she was already gone, swallowed by the Abyss.

  
  


\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“Commander! Commander, please wake up!”

Ornstein was thrashing in his bed, flailing around as a Silver Knight fought to try and wake him. One of his fists clanged off of the Silver Knight’s helm, jarring the dragonslayer just enough to pull him from his fitful rest.

  
  


“Commander, I have a message for you. I’m sorry for the intrusion, but this comes from Lord Artorias.”

  
  


“Are you sure?” said Ornstein, instantly alert.

  
  


“Yes sir.”

  
  


“Well, what are you waiting for? Where is the message?”

“Right here sir.”

The knight handed Ornstein the rolled-up piece of parchment. The wax seal had the head of a wolf pressed into it. The crest of Artorias. Ornstein quickly opened the message and read it. Artorias had made it safely to Oolacile. The corruption was a bit worse than what he had been expecting, but Artorias still believed that he would be back to Anor Londo before sunrise three days from the time he had arrived. 

  
  


“Please relay this message to Lady Ciaran. She will be happy for the good news.” Ornstein said. 

  
  


“Of course sir.” 

  
  


Once the knight had left, Ornstein flopped back onto his bed. Artorias was safely in Oolacile, and perhaps Ornstein’s visions had been false after all. The corruption had turned out to be nothing that Artorias couldn’t handle after all.

  
  


The rest of the day went by quickly. Ornstein apparently acted as happy as he felt, because several of his knights commented as such. Ciaran was elated that her beloved was safe. In fact, this attitude carried into the next day. Ornstein was feeling as good as he had in centuries. Not only did he have no visions the night before, but tomorrow morning would be when Artorias was scheduled to return from Oolacile. That night, neither he nor Ciaran slept. They were both eager to see Artorias, and wanted to be the first to greet him upon his arrival. 

  
  


But Artorias did not arrive when he said he thought he would. But neither of the knights were too upset. Perhaps Artorias was running a bit behind. He would be back to Anor Londo soon.

  
  


Another day passed. No sign of Artorias. Ciaran had started to worry, and Ornstein wondered what could be holding up Artorias for this long. 

  
  


On the morning of the fifth day, Ornstein awoke to a pounding on his door. He jumped out of bed, praying that it was Artorias. Instead, he was greeted by a panicked Ciaran. She told him that she had stayed up all night waiting for Artorias’s return. 

  
  


“I fear the worst, Ornstein.” she said through a rush of tears. Once again Ornstein found himself embracing Ciaran as she wailed. He felt powerless, only able to assure Ciaran that everything would be fine in the end. 

  
  


Throughout the day, a feeling of suspense had a grip on the entire cathedral. Ornstein ordered the sentries to keep an eye out for Artorias. Every guard at every gate stared out to the road beyond their post, hoping to see a horse charging down the lane. Inside of the cathedral, Ciaran could be heard lamenting in her chambers, with only Ornstein to comfort her. 

  
  


To the despair of all, Artorias did not arrive that day. Ciaran was distraught, refusing to leave her chambers even to eat. 

  
  


That night, Ornstein couldn’t sleep. He decided to go on a walk to hopefully clear his mind enough to perhaps get a few hours of sleep. He was walking through the great hall when a flicker of movement caught his eye. He turned to see Ciaran slipping outside through the massive doors. He rushed after her, catching her as she made her way down the stairs that lead to the cathedral.

  
  


“What do you think you’re doing Ciaran? You aren’t thinking of leaving to go after Artorias, are you?” Ornstein said.

  
  


“Please Ornstein, let me go! I must know what happened to him! You understand better than anyone that I must find him! Please do not stop me!”

  
  


She was hysterical. If he told her to go back to the cathedral, Ciaran would just escape again. Ornstein did not want to let her go after Artorias, but at this point he had no choice.

  
  


“Alright. You may go after him. But promise you will send word when you find out what happened to our dear Artorias.”

  
  


“Of course Ornstein. I would not deprive you of such information.”

  
  


“Then go. Be quick. Artorias may need our help.”

  
  


Ciaran nodded and slipped away, making no sound as she descended the steps. Ornstein looked on until she made it to the Sen’s entrance, slipping past the guards and out into the darkness. 

  
  


“Stay safe Ciaran....bring our friend back home.”

  
  


The next two days were uneventful, with the entire city on high alert for any sign of Artorias. Ornstein’s hope for Artorias’s survival grew smaller with each passing day, turning to fear as the sentries reported that, yet again, there had been no sign of Artorias. 

  
  


The next morning, a messenger arrived with a letter marked “For Ornstein-Private Matter Enclosed”

  
  


Ornstein immediately ripped the seal off and unrolled the message. Ciaran’s small, sharp handwriting was easy to identify, but there were several spots where what Ornstein assumed to be tears had hit the page, making the paper brittle and wrinkled. Ornstein held his breath as he read the short letter.

  
  


“Artorias has fallen. Oolacile liberated. Please come to the Royal Woods at once.”

  
  


Artorias…..it couldn’t be possible, could it? Ornstein re-read the message, making sure he had understood what Ciaran had written. Artorias…...Artorias was dead. 

  
  


Not wasting any more time, Ornstein rushed down the spiral staircase towards the stables. On his way, he ran into Gale, who was running drills with her squadron.

  
  


“Lieutenant, get me two days worth of rations and meet me at the Sen’s entrance in 5 minutes.”

Gale turned to her commander, a confused look on her face. “Where are you going…”

  
  


“It doesn’t matter where I’m going, only that I need two days of rations immediately! Now, if you value your position, I recommend that you get moving! That’s an order!”

  
  


“Yes sir!” Gale said, running off.

Continuing on, Ornstein made it to the stables, where he picked out the fastest horse he could find, a smaller mare named Vortex. He rode her out to the Sen’s entrance, where he waited for Gale to arrive. She did shortly after, silently handing her commander his rations as he mounted Vortex.

  
  


“Good luck sir.” Gale said, finally realizing what must have happened to elicit such a response from Ornstein.

  
  


“Thank you Gale. I leave you in command until I return. Open the gate! Quickly! Or I’ll make sure you and the executioner get some quality time together in the dungeons!”

  
  


The guards raised the gate, and Ornstein spurred Vortex forward, her hooves thundering on the road as the dragonslayer set out for the Royal Woods.

  
  


Ornstein rode Vortex hard for several hours until the mare could go no further. He stopped by a stream to allow her to drink and rest. Artorias was dead. He was gone.

  
  


He set out once more, riding at a slower pace as night fell. _Artorias was dead._

  
  


The next morning, Ornstein arrived at the Royal Woods. The gardeners and guardians tried to stop him, but he cut down anything in his path, showing no mercy. _Ciaran would never get to marry her beloved._

  
  


He came across a tree that had been cleaved in two, just like in his visions. _He would never be Artorias’s best man._

  
  


Finally, he saw a large coliseum in the distance. Perhaps the entrance to Oolacile?

  
  


He entered the coliseum, and his heart stopped.

  
  


There was Ciaran, kneeling on the ground in front of an improvised gravestone. She heard him enter as always, and turned towards him.

  
  


“Ornstein...he’s...he’s gone. This is the only thing he left behind.”

  
  


That’s when Ornstein noticed what Ciaran had cradled in her arms. It was the soul of Artorias, corrupted almost beyond recognition.

  
  


Ornstein approached Ciaran, dropping to his knees. He was gone. His best friend was gone. 

  
  


“May….may I hold him? Just once?” Ornstein asked, his voice quivering,

  
  


“Yes, of course you can.”

  
  


Ciaran delicately handed Artorias’s soul to Ornstein. This was the only thing that remained of the mighty Artorias.

  
  


As tears flowed freely from him, Ornstein whispered his last words to his friend.

  
  


“I’m sorry Artorias. I let you down.”

  
  


\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Ornstein removed his helm, partially to let the tears that had accumulated flow out, and partially to dry his eyes. Despite his attempts to hide his face, Tempest noticed.

  
  


“What’s wrong Ornstein?” He said.

  
  


“Nothing,” Ornstein said, still trying to hide his face. “Just a bit of ash in my eyes.”

  
  


“Look’s a bit more than just ash if you ask me.” Tempest said. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

  
  


“Yes! Now leave me alone!”

  
  


“Alright Ornstein. But if you ever want to talk about something, you know I’m here for you.”

  
  


Tempest put his hand on Ornstein’s shoulder, looking into his eyes as he spoke.

  
  


“I’ll always be here for you Ornstein. _I promise._ ”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempest finally cracks and reveals his feelings to Ornstein.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this chapter is quite angsty. Was really fun to write, but I couldn’t of done it without MrsLittletall’s help.
> 
> As always, check out MrsLittletall's works!

“We..we need to keep moving.”, Ornstein said. _So I can stop dwelling on these infernal memories,_ he thought to himself. Anything to distract him from the pain. He didn’t need any more reminders of what he had lost. 

  
  


Although it seemed fitting, Ornstein supposed. He had lost so many friends throughout time, and he was destined to lose one more very soon, so why not relive the horrors of the past? Fate had already broken him. 

  
  


Ornstein strapped his helm and stood, using his spear to lean on as he hauled himself up from his sitting position.

  
  


“Are you sure you’re ok Ornstein? You’re acting a bit strange.” Tempest said.

  
  


“I’m fine. Now, can we please get moving? I don’t want this to take longer than it has to.”

  
  


Tempest looked at Ornstein quizzically. “What’s that supposed to mean Ornstein? If you want to get this over with, why have you been sitting on the ground for so long?”

  
  


Ornstein looked down to the little Storm, a small spark of anger growing hot in his chest. Tempest knew nothing of what Ornstein had been through. He would never know the pain of loss on a scale that Ornstein had felt. He wouldn’t know the feeling of letting yet another friend die.

  
  


“You would never understand little Storm. You _couldn’t_ understand.” Ornstein said in a whisper.

  
  


“Like hell I can’t! You always do this, Ornstein. You never let anyone in! Every time I try, you just shut me out and put me down! After everything we’ve been through...after everything...you still don’t trust me!”

  
  


Tempest’s voice grew as he continued, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes as weeks of emotion burst out in mere moments.

  
  


“What will it take, Ornstein? How many times do I need to show you that I care before you trust me? How many days need to pass before you see that I’m here for you? Ever since the day in the Darkmoon Tomb, I’ve shown nothing but compassion and kindness to you! And how do you repay me? By shutting me out! Why? Why are you doing this?”

  
  


“Little Storm...please...I didn’t…” Ornstein stuttered. Despite the smaller size of the Undead, Ornstein shrunk away from him as Tempest kept going.

  
  


“Don’t call me that! All that name represents is a way for you to keep yourself unattached from me! You try to pretend that you care, but you really can’t wait for this to be over, can you Ornstein? All the compliments, every time I thought you were proud of me, it was all a facade, wasn’t it? A front so you didn’t have to deal with me?”

  
  


Every word cut Ornstein to the bone. Where had all of this come from? Had the little Storm been holding all of that all this time?

  
  


“I…” Ornstein began, but was promptly cut off.

  
  


“Do you have any idea how much this has affected me? I already had a hard time sleeping, being Undead. But this just made it impossible. I’ve spent that time crying. Every time I was alone, I would cry. I cried over you Ornstein. Told myself ‘Maybe I’m not good enough for him’. Day after day, I cried. I tried to be good to you. I did what you asked. I tried so damn hard to please you. But you ignored me! Was I not obvious enough? Do I need to spell it out to you? I LIKE YOU ORNSTEIN. Is that clear enough for you?”

  
  


“Little Storm... my intention was not to belittle you…”

  
  


“But you did, Ornstein! I know that I can’t be as perfect as Smough or your master or anyone else, but it didn’t stop me from trying! I gave my hopes up when we were in the Catacombs. I thought that you might actually feel the same...I can see how dumb I was now. You’ll never know how much pain you’ve caused…”

  
  


What was confusion and concern evolved into anger as Ornstein drew himself up to his full height, towering over Tempest.

  
  


“You don’t have ANY idea what I’ve been through! How hard it has been for me to just get out of bed. So, don’t you dare think that you could lecture me on pain. I’ve felt pain. True pain. A pain so intense that it crippled me. I’ve lost everything I’ve ever cared about and you will _never_ be able to understand what it took from me. Because. You. Don’t know. Real Pain.”

  
  


“...And you say that to the one who died a hundred times.” 

  
  


Tempest, rather than back down as Ornstein had hoped, held his ground. Why didn’t he let it go? Ornstein was barely keeping himself together, and the longer the little Storm kept pushing, the more likely it was for him to break down.

  
  


“You’re scared. That’s why you’ve been acting so indifferent to me...you’re scared of what might happen if you did like me, right Ornstein? Well, you don’t have to pretend anymore. I know you want nothing to do with me. So feel free to drop the act. I know I could never measure up to Smough anyways.”

  
  


With that, Tempest turned away from Ornstein, and began walking towards the kiln. What had just happened? Did the little Storm really feel that way? 

  
  


Ornstein was drawn from his thoughts by the telltale sound of swords clashing. By this time, Tempest had rounded a corner. He had likely encountered another Black Knight. Judging from sounds of battle, it sounded like Tempest had missed the parry. 

  
  


The little Storm was still engaged with the knight as Ornstein made his way towards them, dodging swings from the sizable sword the knight was wielding. Ornstein could see that the little Storm was being sloppy in his movements, almost being hit by swings that would normally never come close to striking him when he was concentrating. But Ornstein suspected that fighting was not what said person had his mind focused on. 

  
  


Tempest was, as Ornstein suspected, not focused on the knight trying to kill him. Rather, he was still ruminating on Ornstein’s refusal to show any real emotion towards him. It had all been a lie, a fabrication to keep Tempest at a distance. 

  
  


The knight swung his sword, the little Storm barely able to step back far enough to avoid bifurcating his head. The tip of the sword ripped down Tempest’s chest, tearing open his armor as it continued down, coming uncomfortably close to removing his manhood. The little Storm stumbled back, a thin line of blood appearing where the sword had cut flesh. 

  
  


_“What’s the point of all of this anymore?”_ Tempest thought, falling to his knees as the Black Knight drew back it’s sword for another strike. _“The hope that kept me going is pointless now. I can deal with Ornstein not liking me romantically, but now that I know he doesn’t ever care for me as a friend, why should I keep pushing forward?”_

  
  


Tempest could no longer hold back his tears, letting them streak down his face as he waited for the killing blow. This was the end.

  
  


The Black Knight brought it’s sword down, aiming for Tempest’s neck. 

  
  


_“Farewell Ornstein. I’ll be hollow next time you see me.”_

  
  


A sharp clang followed by a grunt from Ornstein caused Tempest to lift up his head. The scene in front of him was much like the old stories of knights in shining armor saving the princess that his mother used to read to him when he was young. 

  
  


Ornstein stood over the small Undead, spear raised up to deflect the strike, notching the shaft as he did so. Ornstein pushed the sword back and followed up with a quick thrust into the knight’s stomach. The knight fell to the ground with an inhuman shriek, black smoke billowing out of the wound. 

  
  


“What in the world are you doing idiot?! That blow would've killed you! Have you gone insane?” Ornstein fumed. “Answer me!”

  
  


“Of course, you come in when I’m in danger to try and make me think that you really care. Like I said, you don’t have to pretend anymore. I wanted that knight to kill me.” Tempest said, his voice smooth and even.

  
  


“You...you can’t be serious! Little Storm, what do you mean?”

  
  


“I told you to stop calling me that! And why do you care? It’s pointless to keep going anymore. Linking the flame can go to hell. I wish I could follow it, but I’ll have to settle for the next best thing. Losing my mind will at least let me forget you.”

  
  


Tempest suddenly grabbed his sword with both hands, placing the tip just below his sternum. He hesitated for a moment, uncertainty of his future making him pause for only a moment.

  
  


“Little Storm, what are you…?” Ornstein said, in complete disbelief at what he was witnessing.

  
  


With a shout, Tempest ran himself through, the tip of the sword bursting through his back and slicing through his armor.

  
  


“IDIOT!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?” Ornstein yelled as Tempest collapsed on his side, a small smile forming on his lips as blood began to pour from the self-inflicted wound. Ornstein dropped to his knees and picked up the Undead, cradling the little Storm in his arms.

  
  


“Why...why did you do this?” Orstein half-sobbed, watching as the life drained from Tempest’s eyes. “Where’s your Estus? WHERE IS IT?”

  
  


“Just...just let me go Ornstein…I want this..” Tempest whispered, that smile still on his face. “Don’t make the pain worse by saving me.”

  
  


“You...you can’t leave...not now. Besides, you can’t stay dead. You’ll just come back.” Ornstein said frantically, still frisking Tempest for his Estus. 

  
  


“Yes...but I can go hollow…” Tempest said. He promptly vomited on the ground, bile and blood mixing together as he retched.

  
  


“No...you can’t...how could…”

  
  


A gust of wind blew across the desolate landscape, a sign that Tempest would soon dissolve into ash and be taken back to the bonfire.

  
  


“Please! Don’t go!” Ornstein said, tears flowing freely inside his helm. “I can’t lose you…”

  
  


As Tempest began to fade out, he whispered his last words. Words that rocked Ornstein to his core and opened up a new wound on Ornstein’s soul.

  
  


“I love you, Ornstein...”

  
  


There!

  
  


Ornstein’s hand wrapped around the Estus flask, yanking it from its place on Tempest’s belt and pulling the stopper out. He tried to pour some down the little Storm’s throat, but was met with tightly sealed lips.

  
  


“Come on little Storm, I really don’t want to have to do this the hard way! Open your mouth!”

  
  


But the little Storm refused to give Ornstein access. He was fading faster now. In a few moments he would be gone. 

  
  


Extreme measures would have to be taken.

  
  


Ornstein pulled his helm off and poured the Estus into his mouth, emptying half of it before stoppering it and tossing the flask aside. Removing the gargoyle helm from Tempest’s head to allow better access, he smashed his lips against the Undead’s own.

  
  


Tempest’s eyes widened. What was Ornstein doing? This...this was like his wildest dreams had come true! He let out a gasp, muffled by the lips pressed against his own. 

  
  


Just as Ornstein had hoped, Tempest had opened his mouth, but not enough to allow for transfer of the Estus.

  
  


Tempest was becoming translucent. Ornstein only had only a few precious seconds before he would lose the little Storm. 

  
  


Tempest felt something brush against his teeth. His body was acting on its own now, letting out a wanton moan as his mouth opened to give Ornstein’s tongue access. What he didn’t expect was the ashy taste of Estus to accompany it.

  
  


Once Ornstein had delivered the Estus, he broke the kiss and leaned back, praying that he had saved the little Storm.

  
  


Miraculously, the blood stopped and color returned to Tempest’s face. The sword, amazingly, was pushed out of his stomach, falling to the ground as the gaping wound closed.

  
  


Tempest looked up at Ornstein incredulously, obviously dumbfounded by his actions. 

  
  


“Why...why did you go that far?” Tempest said, still shaking from the euphoria of the kiss.

  
  


“Because I won’t let you go like that, idiot.” Ornstein huffed.

  
  


Tempest gave Ornstein a dark look. “Even after I told you what I wanted, you still refuse to let me go peacefully? No matter…”

  
  


Tempest made a grab for the sword, but Ornstein kicked it clear of the Undead.

  
  


“Now with that out of the way,” Ornstein said as he pushed Tempest onto the ground and stood up. “Will you kindly explain what in Gwyn’s name you were thinking!?”

  
  


Tempest stood and faced Ornstein. “Why does it matter? The only thing you should be worried about is how you can get rid of me. That seems to be all you want, right Ornstein?”

  
  


“If I wanted to be rid of you, I would have let you go hollow. But I didn’t. So, if that’s all, we need to keep going. And I’ll be confiscating your sword for now. Until you calm down.” Ornstein said.

  
  


“HA! That’s just the thing Ornstein! You couldn’t care less if I’m gone, but you made a promise to the Dark Sun, and your honor forbids you from breaking it! So it’s not a matter of ‘wanting me around’, it’s the fact that you made a promise!” Tempest said, almost triumphantly. 

  
  


Ornstein rolled his eyes. “Let’s go. And don’t think of trying anything. I have your Estus right here, so you can’t do something that stupid again and go hollow.”

  
  


“Whatever, Ornstein.” Tempest said in a huff, trailing the dragon slayer as the pair made their way closer to the Kiln.

  
  


As he walked, Ornstein replayed the situation over and over in his head. He had come so close to losing yet another person close to him. Why had the little Storm acted out in such a way? 

  
  


But what had troubled him the most were those words the little Storm had uttered.

  
  


_“I love you, Ornstein.”_

  
  


That couldn’t be true, right? The little Storm has lost so much blood, perhaps it had made him nonsensical. There was no real reason to say such a thing. Sure the little Storm may have liked him, but they hadn’t known each other for that long. He couldn’t have developed such strong feelings in such a short time. But there was always the chance…

  
  
  


That thought made him uneasy. First the memories of Artorias, now the little Storm possibly confessing his feelings to Ornstein. And right before he was to watch the little Storm burn. It was like fate was telling him to not let the little Storm do it. But, he had to. He had made a promise to Gwyndolin, and he planned to keep it. 

  
  


The duo had made it to the base of the Kiln. Only a small ravine stood between them and the entrance to the Kiln. Small pathways spanned the gap, narrower than the little Storm was tall. They resembled the rafters that many Undead had fallen off in the building housing the painting of Ariamis. Ornstein and Smough had taken great amusement in watching the little Storm fall off of them over and over.

  
  


And on one such pathway stood a Black Knight. This one seemed taller than the others they had encountered. It was barely taller than Ornstein, with broad shoulders and a wide chest. It’s armor looked thinner than the others, most likely due to the weight of the massive greataxe that it held over it’s right shoulder. Ornstein would have to be careful with this one.

  
  


Ornstein approached the knight, who immediately swung it’s axe towards the dragon slayer. The knight missed, but the force behind the blow was great enough to embed the head deep into the narrow pathway. 

  
  


Ornstein retreated, baiting the knight out onto terrain that allowed for more mobility. The Black Knight did as Ornstein had hoped, coming out onto the ash to face him. 

  
  


Ornstein dodged each swing with ease, as the massive weapon was not able to be swung fast enough to keep up with him. Ornstein was feeling good about his chances when the knight did something strange. It swung the axe into the ground behind it, pushing down on the handle with all its strength. The axe dug a furrow in the ground as the knight pulled it forward. It must have planned to use the force of the downward pressure to strike in an upward motion with tremendous force. It was a powerful move, but too slow for the likes of Ornstein. He dodged behind the knight, planning to strike when it’s guard was down.

  
  


The head of the axe smashed into Ornstein’s breastplate, creasing it and throwing Ornstein back a few feet. The knight had turned at the last second, sending the axe straight at Ornstein. 

  
  


Ornstein was stunned for a few seconds, which gave the knight plenty of time to follow up with several weaker attacks. A swing came down across both shoulders, smashing both of his pauldrons inward. Another attack hit his left leg, forcing the plate into his thigh. Yet another blow smashed into Ornstein’s head, tearing off his helm and sending him spinning away, dazed by the force of the impact. 

  
  


What happened next could only be described as brutal. Ornstein’s beautiful armor caved under the immense force of the greataxe, each blow cutting further into the man beneath the armor. Eventually, pieces began to fly off under the withering power of the knight. Blood had, by this point, began to seep into the ash. Ornstein was helpless. The knight, bored of playing with its prey, went for the killing blow. It brought it’s axe down on Ornstein’s neck, but the dragonslayer was able to bring his arm up in a feeble attempt to save his life. The axe hit his arm with a loud crack, accompanied by a roar from Ornstein.

  
  


The once proud dragonslayer had been reduced to a bloody mess, his armor ruined, and now one of his arms broken. The Black Knight began to wind up for another strike. Ornstein lowered his head, accepting his fate as the axe came down. Ornstein awaited for the cold bite of steel…

  
  


But it never came.

  
  


Instead, the inhuman screech of a Black Knight being vanquished sounded in his ears. Ornstein looked up to see the tip of his spear poking through the armor of the knight. It dissolved into black smoke as the little Storm dropped the spear and fell by Ornstein’s side.

  
  


“Ornstein! Ornstein! Can you hear me?” Tempest said

  
  


“Yes idiot, I can hear you. Stop shouting.” Ornstein said, wincing in pain as he tried to raise his arm to shoo the little Storm away.

  
  


“Can you stand? We can get to the bonfire and get you back to Anor Londo.” Tempest said, an edge of panic in his voice. 

  
  


“I...Yes, I can stand.” Ornstein said, wobbling to his feet, only to take a step and immediately fall back to his knees. The pieces of armor in his legs made movement impossible.

  
  


“You're in no condition to be moving. Give me a minute...ah! I do have one!” Tempest exclaimed, producing a bone from his belt.

  
  


“Ah, I assume that will get us to a bonfire?” Ornstein said.

  
  


“Absolutely. But it is teleportation, so you may want to brace yourself.”

  
  


“Thank you for the warning, little Storm.” Ornstein said.

  
  


Tempest activated the magical item, and a golden light enveloped both of them, divine energy warping them back to the Firelink Altar. Tempest, wasting no more time, envisioned the bonfire outside of the Darkmoon Tomb. A rush of wind filled the chamber as the two were whisked away to Anor Londo. 

  
  


As they made it to Anor Londo, Ornstein was looking a nasty shade of green, barely keeping down the delicious meal the little Storm had made him before they left for the Kiln. 

  
  


“Dark Sun! I require your assistance! Please warp us to you! Ornstein is in desperate need of your healing abilities!” Tempest shouted up to the ceiling, hoping that he had been heard. 

  
  


Almost immediately, blinding light filled the room, and suddenly they were in the Darkmoon Tomb, with Ornstein in a bed and the Dark Sun by his side, beginning to strip him of his armor. Poor Ornstein couldn’t keep down his meal after three warps in rapid succession, and vomited on the floor.

  
  


Tempest watched as the Dark Sun worked, setting Ornstein’s arm and removing the pieces of metal from Ornstein’s legs. It had almost a meticulous beauty of it, each task flowing into the other as the Dark Sun worked.

  
  


After what seemed like hours, the Dark Sun wrapped the last bandage and turned to Tempest.

  
  


“Thank you Chosen Undead. If you had waited a few more minutes, Sir Ornstein may have been too far gone. He will have to rest for a few weeks before he can resume his quest with you.”

  
  


“Thank you, Dark Sun.”

  
  


“I must go now. My Blades have prayers that must be answered.”

  
  


They left the room, leaving Ornstein and the little Storm alone. Tempest wasted no time, going to Ornstein’s bedside and brushing a few stray locks of hair out of the dragonslayer’s face. 

  
  


“I...I won’t lie...I was scared when I saw that Black Knight about to kill you.” Tempest said, his voice shaking.

  
  


“Well, no need to be scared anymore. I’ll be fine, just as Gwy..er, the Dark Sun said.” Ornstein said. He still didn’t find it right to reveal Gwyndolin’s name to the little Storm. 

  
  


“I know...just don’t ever scare me like that again.” Tempest said.

  
  


“Only if you promise to never do what you did today again.” said Ornstein. 

  
  


“You’ve got yourself a deal!” Tempest said, hugging Ornstein around his bruised chest. He had forgotten that Ornstein was essentially naked at this point, so his face got quite hot, but he managed to ward off a nosebleed.

  
  
  


As the little Storm hugged him, a warmth radiated deep in Ornstein’s chest, and it wasn’t from the little Storm’s touch. It was almost like…compassion, but with a hint of protectiveness mixed in. Ornstein felt like, as long as the little Storm was here, he would let nothing do him harm.

  
  


_“Is this what Smough felt whenever we would cuddle?”_

  
  


Ornstein, out of instinct, wrapped his non-broken arm around the little Storm, but quickly withdrew when he heard a sharp intake of breath from the Undead. 

  
  


_“Still, you have a promise to keep_.”

  
  


As his mind focused on this moment, memories of Smough began to creep in. More specifically, the memory of his first hug with Smough. 

  
  


A smile crept across his cracked lips as he remembered that day. The warmth of Smough. His perfect size for cuddling and carrying Ornstein. And he remembered the circumstances of their first hug. How Smough had found him.

  
  


And how Ornstein had gotten there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tempest is such an idiot for making all those assumptions.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something big is happening in Anor Londo, and Ornstein wants to find out what it is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, check out MrsLittletall's works!

It was too much. 

  
  


Ornstein couldn’t handle what fate had bestowed upon him. He had lost everything. His master. Artorias. Ciaran, who had decided to stay at Artorias’s gravesite rather than return to Anor Londo. But now he had lost his Lord.

  
  


Lord Gwyn had amassed the Silver Knights, planning to embark on a quest of which no one had known its purpose. Not even Ornstein, who was now the last of the Knights of Gwyn, had known what his Lord had planned to do.

  
  


It had been a few months since Artorias’s death, and Ornstein was still struggling with the loss. He woke up every night shivering, dreams of Artorias and Ciaran saying that he had failed them drifting through his mind. Every day, he would end up in his chambers, crying on his knees as he tried to keep it together. His life couldn’t get any worse.

  
  


Fate had decided to show him that things could, in fact, get worse.

  
  


Ornstein curled up in the far corner of his room, feeling the breakdown coming as he replayed the series of events in his head

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ornstein approached the cathedral, passing a few Silver Knights who were assembling a massive suit of unfamiliar armor. Gwyndolin was there as well, enchanting another identical set of armor. As Ornstein watched, the suit of armor began to move, rising to its feet. Standing, it was almost double Ornstein’s height, with a massive shield in one hand and a halberd in the other. 

  
  


“What is that?” Ornstein said. He had not been informed of any plans to create these constructs.

  
  


One of the Silver Knights turned to Ornstein, wiping the sweat off of his forehead.

  
  


“These are the new sentinels, Commander. Quite an ingenious idea, don’t you think?”

  
  


“And why was I not notified about this project?”, Ornstein huffed. “Seeing as my knights are involved, I should know what’s going on.”

  
  


“Well, we were given direct orders from Lord Gwyn, Commander. Therefore, I didn’t see it necessary to inform anyone about this.”

  
  


“You didn’t find it necessary, you say?”, Ornstein said. “What’s your name?”

  
  


The knight paused for a moment, beginning to realize his mistake. He took a step back from Ornstein as he responded.

  
  


“Uh...my name is Ash, sir.”

  
  


Ornstein bent down slightly, looking Ash in the eyes as he spoke.

  
  


“Well, if you don’t see the point in communication, maybe I’ll decide not to tell your lieutenant when your time on sentry duty is up.”, Ornstein said.

  
  


“I...I’m sorry sir, I just thought…” Ash stammered.

  
  


Ornstein turned before the knight could finish, making his way into the great hall. Inside, two more of the sentinels stood, facing one another. Unlike the sentinels outside, these had blue robes over their armor. What did they need these giant suits of armor for?

  
  


_Was Anor Londo prepping for war?_

  
  


As Ornstein walked past the gigantic suits of armor, making his way to the cathedral that housed Lord Gwyn’s throne, one of the sentinels suddenly turned towards him. Ornstein stopped, waiting to see what the construct would do. 

  
  


Suddenly, the sentinel swung its halberd as the dragon slayer. The swing was horrendously slow, Ornstein had no trouble dodging it. Why had the sentinel attacked him? 

  
  


Now the second construct was joining in, slamming its shield down where Ornstein had been a few seconds before. The attacks from both sentinels were extremely slow, and they took ages to recover from each swing of their halberd. 

  
  


_“How are these supposed to protect Anor Londo? Anyone who can see should be able to topple them without much issue.”_

  
  


“That’s enough!”

  
  


Gwyndolin had entered the hall, their voice magically amplified so that the plates of Ornstein’s armor rattled together. Immediately, the sentinels ceased their assault and moved back to their original positions. Gwyndolin, now speaking at a normal volume, continued.

  
  


“My apologies Ornstein.”, Gwyndolin said. “The sentinels were made to defend the cathedral from any and all, besides deities. I overlooked the knights. The same event transpired outside. One of the sentinels almost killed that knight you were chastising...Ash, was it?”

  
  


“Yes, that was him.” Ornstein said.

  
  


“Well, in any case, they should ignore you and the Silver Knights now.”, Gwyndolin said. “Now, I do have to get back to enchanting the other sentinels.”

  
  


“Gwyndolin, if I may, why do we need these creations? Anor Londo isn’t under any threat that I know of.” Ornstein asked, still confused over the sentinel's purpose.

  
  


“I’m sorry Ornstein, but regretfully I can’t tell you that. You would have to ask Lord Gwyn if you want to know.” 

  
  


With that, Gwyndolin slithered out of the cathedral. What could be so important that even Ornstein was being spared information? It had to be something personal to elicit such a response from his Lord. 

  
  


Ornstein finally made it to the cathedral. The normal Silver Knight guards were there, but their armor and weapons were different than the last time Ornstein had seen them. The armor looked heavier than standard silver knight armor, and their weapons were strange. Two of the knights held swords that looked similar to the straight swords carried by most Silver Knights besides the guards over the hilts. One had a massive greatsword slung over its shoulder. Another had a greataxe that looked insanely heavy. And the last knight had a halberd.

  
  


Each weapon was thicker than Ornstein’s wrist, and must have weighed much more than the average weapons used by the regular Silver Knights. 

  
  


Despite the questions floating in his mind about their armament, Ornstein held his tongue. The guards wouldn’t answer him anyways. They were there to guard their Lord, not to make conversation. 

  
  


“Ornstein! This is a pleasant surprise!”, Lord Gwyn boomed, beckoning the dragon slayer closer. “I was just about to send word to you. I need you to summon every Silver Knight to the training grounds. We have new weapons and armor to distribute.”

  
  


“Of course, my Lord. But, may I ask why we need to distribute new armaments? And why there are new constructs being created?”, Ornstein said. 

  
  


“Oh, and one more thing.”, Lord Gwyn said, ignoring Ornstein’s question. “Please come back once you are done distributing weapons. I have an assignment to give you.”

  
  


“...Yes, my Lord.” Ornstein said dejectedly. He walked out of the cathedral, not looking where he was going as he trudged down the steps. His Lord had never ignored one of his questions. In fact, Lord Gwyn had always made sure Ornstein knew what was going on.

  
  


“Look out!” 

  
  


Ornstein looked up from the ground in time to see a Silver Knight slam into him. The knight had been running across the hall, in an obvious rush to get somewhere. The weight of their armor plus the force of impact made the knights topple over, hitting the ground with a crash. The Silver Knight landed on top of Ornstein, their helm slipping off of their head and giving Ornstein a look at who had just run into him.

  
  


It was Gale. 

  
  


The knights looked at each other for a few seconds, Gale turning a deep shade of red. She quickly got off of her commander, grabbing her helm and placing onto her head before offering a hand to Ornstein. He took it, getting to his feet as Gale began to apologize.

  
  


“I’m so sorry sir! I couldn’t stop in time! I didn’t mean to knock you over!”

  
  


“Gale…”, Ornstein said.

  
  


“I shouldn’t have been running. Just with everything that’s happening, I was in a hurry.” 

  
  


“Gale, it’s not an issue.”, Ornstein said, “I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. And besides, I was looking for you.”

  
  


“Really? What for?”

  
  


“I need you to gather all of the Silver Knights in the training grounds. Lord Gwyn has new weapons and armor to distribute.”, Ornstein said. “I want you to lead the distribution. From what I’ve seen, the weapons and armor are quite a bit heavier than what is standard issue. So everyone will be practicing today with full armor and the weapon they are given. This is a direct order from Lord Gwyn himself, so I want each and every knight to be as proficient with their new weapons as possible. Something big is happening from what I can tell, and our Lord needs us ready.”

  
  


Gale snapped a quick salute. “Yes, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  
  


With that, she hurried off, running to the barracks. Ornstein didn’t know why Lord Gwyn was changing his army’s equipment. If there was some sort of threat to Anor Londo, wouldn’t it be better to keep them with their current equipment that they had experience with?

  
  


Ornstein pondered this as he slowly made his way to the training grounds, directing every Silver Knight he saw to head there as well. 

  
  


When he arrived, he was amazed. Gale had done her job well. Each squadron of Silver Knights were standing at attention in perfect block formation. Even after hundreds of years, seeing all the Silver knights in one place still took his breath away. Their armor gleaming in the sun was almost blinding, each piece of armor meticulously polished by its owner. Most knights grew quite attached to their weapons and armor, which made what was about to happen that much more difficult. 

  
  


At the front of the formation stood Gale, who had already changed her weapon and armor out for the new gear. Several racks of swords and armor stood behind her. As Ornstein watched, she had each squadron come up to the front and receive their armor and weapon. Each time a squadron came up, Ornstein could hear some complaints about having to give up their old gear. Once everyone had received their new gear, Gale instructed them to don their armor. Several minutes of curses, complaints, and clinking of metal ensued. 

  
  


Several knights noted the weight of the armor and the swords, but most said that the new gear wasn’t that different, which surprised Ornstein. The new armor and weapons were much larger and thicker than the old Silver Knight gear, yet there were few who thought it would affect them in combat. Some even said that they liked the new armor more. And Ornstein could see why. While the Silver Knight armor provided plenty of defense, the new armor, being thicker with a miniscule increase in weight, would surely compliment the slightly larger weapons.

  
  


As the last of the knights got their armor strapped into place, Gale instructed them to place their old armor and weapons onto the racks, as they would not be needing them. This caused a large uproar from the ranks, but Gale quickly quieted them. Begrudgingly, the knights placed their armor and swords onto the racks, some less willing than others.

  
  


Ornstein stepped forward, and everyone snapped to attention, waiting to hear what their commander had to say.

  
  


“Some of you are probably wondering why you had to get new armaments today. Sadly, I do not have an exact answer for you all. However, this was a direct order from Lord Gwyn, so I expect each of you to do your best to adapt to the gear. For training today, I want you all to spar with one another. Full armor is required. If your lieutenants find one of you slacking, the offender will find themselves cleaning the kitchen after the evening meal until I can see my reflection on every surface.”

  
  


As expected, every knight jumped into action, quickly finding a sparring partner and crossing swords with them. Satisfied that his orders had been understood, Ornstein left the training grounds and returned to the cathedral. 

  
  


“Ah, Ornstein! You’ve returned! I assume that everything went smoothly with the new gear then?” 

  
  


Ornstein nodded. “Yes, my Lord. In fact, it went better than I could have ever hoped.” 

  
  


Lord Gwyn smiled. “That’s wonderful! Now, I’m sorry that I ignored your question earlier. But I wanted to wait until the opportune moment to tell you.”

  
  


Ornstein was getting nervous. Lord Gwyn was speaking in a grave tone.

  
  


“So, as you know, my soul and subsequently the piece that rests inside of you are fueled by the First Flame. It grants you and I immortality and allows me to summon lighting at will. But lately, I’ve noticed a difference in my soul. It’s less intense, less powerful. You probably haven’t noticed, as the piece within you is too small to be affected. But this weakening of my soul means only one thing: the First Flame is fading.”

  
  


Ornstein was stunned. “A...are you sure?”

  
  


“It’s the only explanation. I’ve been in contact with the witch of Izalith. She said she thought that she may be able to recreate a flame with as much power as the First Flame. That was a few weeks ago, and I’ve heard nothing from her. And now there have been sightings of grotesque creatures roaming around Lordran. They’ve already earned the name ‘demon’ from the residents of the burg below. I fear the worst has happened to the witch of Izalith. And so, I’m preparing the knights for an expedition down to Izalith. That seems to be where the demons are coming from. After we are done there, I want to go check on the First Flame and see if I can do anything to help strengthen it.”

  
  


“So that’s why we made those constructs. They’ll be defending Anor Londo while we go and investigate Izalith.”, Ornstein said. “Well, I guess I’d better start preparing then.”

  
  


Lord Gwyn shook his head. “That’s the issue. I need someone here I can trust. So I would like you to stay behind and guard the cathedral.”

  
  


Ornstein was aghast. “Wh...what do you mean, my Lord? I want to help you on your expedition! Besides, I can’t defend the whole cathedral by myself!”

  
  


“I know Ornstein. But I need you here. As for you being alone, I’ve handpicked someone to assist you. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  
  


Someone to assist him? Ornstein knew a few Silver Knights that would do admirably in defending Anor Londo. Ornstein would be happy to have Gale, Aldwin, or Darius by his side. 

  
  


“You summoned me, my Lord?”

  
  


Ornstein knew that voice. 

  
  


_Lord Gwyn picked HIM of all people?!_

  
  


Smough walked up and stood next to Ornstein. Ornstein was tall, but his head only came up to the executioner’s shoulders. 

  
  


“Yes, Smough. I have called you here to tell you that I will be leaving Anor Londo for a while, and I am taking all of the Silver Knights with me. Consequently, I need a few people to guard the cathedral. Ornstein will be staying behind, and I would like you to help him. 

  
  


“Of course, my Lord.” Smough said, a hint of disdain in his voice.

  
  


“It’s settled then!”, Lord Gwyn said, clapping his hands together. “Smough, you are welcome to move any personal belongings into Gough’s old room.”

  
  


_WHAT? Smough doesn’t belong anywhere near that room!_

  
  


“As for you Ornstein, I want you to notify the Silver Knights to prepare to leave when the sun is high.”

  
  


“My...my Lord, do you think it wise to have them move out on such short notice? And they just got new equipment that they’re not used to, so they won’t be able to fight as effectively as normal.”, Ornstein said.

  
  


“I’m sorry Ornstein, but we must move out immediately.”, Lord Gwyn said.

  
  


“Alright, my Lord.”, Ornstein mumbled.

  
  


As he walked out of the cathedral, Ornstein saw Smough standing next to one of the sentinels. 

  
  


“Smough, don’t let the fact that you were given the privilege of moving out of the dungeon go to your head.”, Ornstein said. 

  
  


“Piss off, Ornstein.”, Smough said simply.

  
  


Scoffing, Ornstein left the great hall and made his way back to the training grounds and informed his lieutenants of the sudden development. Like Ornstein, they were concerned about how much time they had. But they carried out their orders anyways, and soon the training ground was empty. 

  
  


The next three hours were a mix of confusion and chaos as the whole of Anor Londo prepared for the expedition. Silver Knights ran around, getting food, waterskins, and horses ready. Ornstein found himself being a bystander in the chaos, as he would not be accompanying the Silver Knights on their journey. 

  
  


Eventually, the time came for the expedition to begin. The Silver Knights had lined up in columns at the Sen’s entrance. The sun was blisteringly hot, and Ornstein had removed his helm in an attempt to cool off slightly. 

  
  


As the army of knights waited for Lord Gwyn, Gale approached Ornstein, her helm also off in an attempt to combat the heat.

  
  


“Are you not coming with us, Commander?”, she asked. 

  
  


“Sadly, no. I am staying here, to protect the cathedral.”

  
  


“Well...in that case…”

  
  


Gale suddenly stood on the tips of her toes and gave Ornstein a quick peck on the cheek.

  
  


“I’m sorry Commander, but I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”, Gale said. “This may be the last time I ever see you, so I wasn’t missing my opportunity.”

  
  


Ornstein could only stare at her in complete shock. He had realized he was only interested in men a long time ago, but Gale’s kiss still made his face burn. 

  
  


Gale smiled. “Until we meet again, Commander.”

  
  


As she returned to her position, Lord Gwyn finally appeared. The army of Silver Knights stood at attention, awaiting their Lord’s command to move out.

  
  


Ornstein gave a small bow in Lord Gwyn’s direction, his Lord nodding in acknowledgment. Lord Gwyn then gestured to one of his guards, who proceeded to put a bugle to their lips and played a quick series of notes. The command to move. 

  
  


In unison, the Silver Knights stepped off on their left foot, Gale calling out a cadence for the army to march to as they made their way to Izalith. 

  
  


Ornstein watched as the army moved down the road. It was in impressive sight, with hundreds of knights stepping in time with one another, creating a beat of boots on the ground that Ornstein could feel in his chest.

  
  


When the army had marched out of Ornstein’s sight, he went back to the cathedral. With no knights bustling around, the city seemed larger than Ornstein remembered. Each of his footsteps echoed off of the buildings as he passed. Once he was inside of the cathedral, the emptiness was even more apparent. Now his only company was Smough and Gwyndolin. 

  
  


The next week was extremely boring. Each day, Ornstein had nothing to do except talk to Gwyndolin. He refused to make any sort of contact with Smough.

  
  
  


After two weeks, Ornstein started to worry. It was, at worst, a three day march to Izalith. Assuming that Lord Gwyn had spent another three days there investigating, what was taking him so long with the First Flame? Granted, Ornstein didn’t know where the First Flame was located. 

  
  


What he did know, however, was that the Silver Knights had only prepared enough supplies to last three weeks.

  
  


Four weeks passed, and Ornstein was starting to break down. Where was his Lord? His Silver Knights? What happened to them? Gwyndolin obviously could tell that something was wrong, and talked about declaring Lord Gwyn dead. But Ornstein refused to give up hope. His Lord and the SIlver Knights would make it home. 

  
  


Once the fifth week had passed, Gwyndolin officially pronounced Lord Gwyn dead and built a tomb for him. It was hidden by an illusionary statue inside of the Silver Knight tomb.

  
  


Ornstein’s emotional state was wrecked. His Lord was most likely dead. He would never see his Silver Knights again. Once again, he had lost someone and he couldn’t do anything about it. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tears were flowing down Ornstein’s face. It had been a month since he had lost his Lord, and he still couldn’t make it through the day without having a breakdown. Why was he still alive? It seemed like the only reason he existed was so he could feel pain. He could barely do his duty. 

  
  


At least, his attitude towards Smough had lightened. Mostly because Ornstein had lost all reason to care about anything in any way, but it helped a little bit to have someone he could regularly talk to. Gwyndolin usually stayed in the tomb they had buried Lord Gwyn in, so most of the time Smough was the only one around.

  
  


As Ornstein sobbed in his chambers, Smough was looking for him. That day, Ornstein had been acting more down than usual. He wanted to help the dragon slayer, even if their past had been a bit rocky. Ornstein had acted kinder to him in the last few weeks, and Smough wanted to reciprocate that kindness.

  
  


Despite what most people thought, Smough was a gentle giant. Yes he was an executioner, and yes he was cannibalistic. But one was his job that he didn’t necessarily enjoy and one was due to his environment while growing up. His father was a butcher, so Smough was surrounded by meat during his early years. Naturally, he was curious how each meat tasted, and eventually became curious enough that he cut out a chunk of his belly and tasted it. He enjoyed the taste, and since that day he had experimented. Sometimes he would cut off a little bit of flesh from his hand and mix it in with the meal he was preparing. One time, he cut off one of his own toes to satisfy a craving. He had cut back since then, only using the bones of the people he executed to grind up and put on his food.

  
  


And he really didn’t want to be mean to Ornstein, but the way he had been looked down on made his blood boil. The fact that he was constantly denied a spot in the Knights of Gwyn based on a trait about him that nobody truly understood also upset him. 

  
  


Smough was passing the entrance to Ornstein’s chambers when he heard the sound of crying coming from within. Was Ornstein really that upset about whatever was on his mind?

  
  


“Ornstein? Are you alright?” 

  
  


After a few seconds, Smough entered Ornstein’s chambers. It took him a bit, as the door was a bit too narrow for his frame, but he made it inside.

  
  


Ornstein was curled up in the far corner of the room, sobbing into his hands. This affected Smough more than he thought it would. Smough got down on his knees and tried to comfort the knight as he continued to cry.

  
  


“It’s alright, I’m here Ornstein. You’re going to be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you.”, Smough said, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

  
  


“S..Smough? W...what are you doing here?”, Ornstein said between sobs.

  
  


“I was looking for you, and when I heard you crying, I figured I should try and help.”, Smough said.

  
  


“B...but I thought you hated me?”

  
  


Smough chuckled a bit. “I never hated you Ornstein. But when you would talk down to me, I would get upset. I’ll admit, I had a grudge for a long time. But you’ve been nice to me for a while, so I figured I should be nice as well. But never mind me, what’s got you like this?”

  
  


“Y...you wouldn’t understand…”

  
  


Smough grabbed Ornstein by the shoulders, looking him right in the eyes as he spoke.

  
  


“Well then help me understand Ornstein. I _want_ to understand.”, he said.

  
  


“R...really? You mean that?”, Ornstein said, a hopeful look in his eyes.

  
  


“Of course.”

  
  


Ornstein immediately threw himself at Smough, hugging him as a fresh wave of tears came forth. Smough wrapped his large arms around the smaller man, holding him as he cried.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ornstein was about to tell the little Storm that he was putting a bit too much pressure on his leg, but when he looked down, he saw the small Undead had gotten into the bed with him and was now fast asleep, Ornstein’s arm still wrapped around his torso.

  
  


_Sleep well, little Storm_. _You deserve it._

  
  


As he watched the little Storm sleep, Ornstein thought of all the good times the two of them had shared. One in particular stuck out: his reaction to Ornsein’s first strange food request. The face that the Undead had made when Ornstein had requested the weird dish had been priceless.

  
  


That memory also made Ornstein think of the first time Smough found out about his...interesting taste in food. His reaction had been less funny. And Ornstein, at the time, thought it had cost him their relationship.

  
  


Ornstein’s eyes began to feel heavy, and soon he drifted off to sleep. In his dreams, he relived the night Smough found him eating a jam and onion sandwich.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Tempest. You always know how to make a scene better. 
> 
> I know the time skips were a bit confusing, so feel free to ask in the comments if you would like clarification on those or anything else!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smough discovers Ornstein's...interesting taste in food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter today! Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> As always, check out MrsLittletall's works!

It had been a long day for Ornstein and Smough. They had fought a particularly feisty Undead for most of the day. They had been just like many of the Undead that made it to Anor Londo. This one carried a Zweihander and donned a set of armor similar to the giant sentinels. Subsequently, they had been very hard to put down. 

  
  


But the Undead had been very cocky. Whenever they landed a hit, they would take a moment to spread their arms out in a provoking gesture. This did nothing but make Ornstein respect them less and Smough more determined to splatter them into the floor. 

  
  


Eventually, the Undead had not returned, and the couple had assumed that they had gone hollow. This was confirmed when Ornstein had gone outside for a walk and found the Undead walking in circles muttering “Gotta kill noobs”. Ornstein didn’t know what that had meant, but it sounded positively insane.

  
  


After the strange events of the day, Ornstein had enjoyed a wonderful meal prepared by Smough, followed by some time cuddling up to his boyfriend with a book, reading for a few hours. 

  
  


Now, the pair was asleep, Ornstein nestled up against Smough. The arm of the larger man was curled around the dragon slayer, pulling him even tighter into Smough’s chest. At one time, Smough had been a bit apprehensive with them sharing a bed, but after a lot of convincing, (and several occasions where Ornstein snuck into Smough’s bed), he had relented. 

  
  


Since then, they had slept the same way every night. Ornstein absolutely loved the arrangement. He enjoyed the closeness and warmth of the bigger man, letting it envelop him every night. Even his nightmares about Artorias had ceased since they had begun sleeping together, which was an added bonus.

  
  
  


Tonight, however, Ornstein woke up with something else on his mind.

  
  


He had a craving for something to eat. He didn’t know what it was, but he desperately wanted to eat something. He thought about waking Smough up to make him a snack, but he decided against it. He would probably just tell Ornstein to go back to sleep. 

  
  


As gently as possible, Ornstein slipped himself out from underneath Smough’s arms, shivering as the cold air hit him. He quietly made his way to the kitchen, bare feet making no sound on the stone flags as he moved. Once he was in the kitchen, Ornstein searched through the cupboards, looking for something to satisfy his craving.

  
  


Soon, Ornstein had picked out a jar of jam and an onion from around the kitchen. Both sounded like they would satisfy his hunger, but how would he go about combining them? Eventually, Ornstein decided to make a sandwich from them. Ornstein grabbed the loaf of bread from the counter and cut two slices off of it. He proceeded to spread some jam over both pieces of bread.

  
  


But how would he cut up the onion? Ornstein was an awful cook, and had almost zero experience making anything. Ornstein had observed Smough cook many times, but he couldn’t seem to grasp what he saw. 

  
  


Eventually, Ornstein remembered the time he had watched Smough cut up a tomato. He had made several shallow cuts in the tomato before turning the fruit on its side and cutting a thin layer off of the side he had already cut. What was created were several small cubes of tomato. He figured that he could do the same thing with an onion. 

  
  


Despite his best attempts, the pieces of onion were not the cubes that Smough had produced, but rather, they were extremely lopsided and differed greatly in size. But they would all taste the same when it came down to it.

  
  


Finally Ornstein finished cutting up the onion and placed the pieces onto his sandwich, putting the other piece of bread on top. He picked up the sandwich and brought it to his mouth, the aroma of onions and the jam mixing together to create an interesting smell. He took a bite, and was immediately surprised when the concoction tasted amazing. 

  
  


The bitterness of the onions complimented the sweetness of the jam wonderfully. Ornstein felt proud of himself for being able to make something that didn’t taste awful for a change. He continued to eat, savoring each bite as he munched away.

  
  


“Ornstein? What are you doing? And why do I smell onions?”

  
  


Smough entered the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. He had woken up as Ornstein had left, assuming he was going to relieve himself. But when he had not returned, Smough had gone looking for him.

  
  


“Oh, Smough! You must try this sandwich I made! It tastes wonderful!”, Ornstein said excitedly. 

  
  


“Hm? What’s in it?”, Smough asked.

  
  


“Onions and jam!”, Ornstein said. “It tastes divine!”

  
  


Smough stood there for a few seconds, a look of sheer disbelief on his face.

  
  


“What!? Onions and jam? You put onions and jam in the same sandwich? Are you crazy?”, Smough said.

  
  


Ornstein’s face fell. He had thought that Smough would be proud of him, but instead he was being chastised?

  
  


“What? Is...is that bad?”, Ornstein said.

  
  


“Yes it’s bad!”, Smough scoffed. “Those two things should never go together! It makes me sick just thinking about it!”

  
  


“But...but I like it…” Ornstein said, his voice fading into a whisper as Smough continued.

  
  


“Just...just finish that sandwich and come back to bed when you’re done.”, Smough said, gagging as he left the kitchen.

  
  


Ornstein was in shock. He had not expected such a reaction from Smough. Tears began to well up in the corners of his eyes as he threw the rest of the sandwich across the kitchen and ran. 

  
  


Smough, meanwhile, had made it back to his bed. As he lay in wait for Ornstein's return, he tried to sort out what had just happened. As a person who loved cooking, he was appalled that his kitten would come up with something so strange. Eventually, he fell asleep, not able to keep his eyes open any longer.

  
  


The next morning, Smough awoke to an empty bed, besides himself. Had Ornstein awoken early? Smough got up and went through his usual morning routine, although without Ornstein it felt slightly strange. He had gotten so used to the kitten’s presence that it felt wrong when he wasn’t there. 

  
  


After finishing his routine, Smough went to look for Ornstein. He hadn’t turned up, but no matter. He was probably already in the kitchen, waiting to ask Smough how to crack an egg properly for the hundredth time. But he wasn’t there either.

  
  


Growing more and more concerned, Smough began searching everywhere for Ornstein. Where could the kitten be? He checked the armory, down by the giant blacksmith, the training grounds, and Ornstein’s old chambers, but he was nowhere to be found.

  
  


Ornstein was in the old briefing room, where he had been all night since he had run out of the kitchen. He was right in the middle of the longest breakdown of his life, which had lasted several hours. Each time he would start to calm down, the memory of the disgusted look on Smough's face when he found out what the dragon slayer had been eating would trigger more tears and make the sinking feeling in his stomach even worse. 

  
  


How could he have been such an idiot? He should have never mixed those foods together. Now Smough probably hated him and would refuse to talk to him. He had just ruined the best thing to ever happen to him in a few minutes. 

  
  


Annoyingly, Ornstein felt the urge to go to the bathroom just as a new wave of sobs began. Sniffling, he got up from the corner and made his way out of the briefing room. Ornstein turned to make his way down the hall, running right into Smough as he did so. 

  
  


“Ornstein! There you are! Where have you…”, Smough began, but stopped short when he saw the tears rolling down his boyfriend’s cheeks.

  
  


“What’s wrong, kitten?”, Smough asked, his voice thick with concern.

  
  


“...Why do you love me?”, Ornstein sobbed. “All I do is make you upset and mess everything up. I can’t even make a sandwich without screwing it up.”

  
  


The smaller man collapsed into Smough, hot tears splattering on the stone floor as he hugged the executioner.

  
  


“I...I don’t want to lose you, Smough. But I keep messing up. Why do you want to be with an idiot like me?” 

  
  


“Kitten...”, Smough said. “I’m not upset with you. Yes, I was not thrilled about your taste in food, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. I still love you because you don’t see my flaws. You see me for who I am. And I see you in the same way. I’ll always love you Ornstein. No matter what.”

  
  


Ornstein looked up at Smough. “Are...are you sure?”

  
  


“Yes I’m sure, kitten. You’re perfect just the way you are. But you need to get out of your own head sometimes. You tell yourself that you’re not good enough. But you’re enough for me. I love you, Ornstein. And that will never change.” 

  
  


Smough bent down and gently picked Ornstein up, the smaller man wrapping his arms around the executioner’s neck.

  
  


“Now,”, Smough said. “How about we go and get some breakfast?”

  
  


Ornstein nodded, burying his head into Smough’s neck as the couple made their way to the kitchen for a delicious meal.

  
  


“Are you sure that I’m really what you want, Smough?”, Ornstein asked. He still found it hard to believe that Smough actually loved him.

  
  


“Of course, kitten. Like I said, I’ll always be here for you. I _promise_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will say, I got curious enough to try an onion and jam sandwich, and it wasn't as disgusting as I thought. In fact, it was actually quite good. But I doubt Smough will be sharing any kisses with Ornstein until his onion breath goes away!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ornstein starts his recovery, as well as something else...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a bit harder to write, but the result was worth it!
> 
> As always, check out MrsLittletall's works!

Gwyndolin had awoken earlier than usual, and their snakes were not happy about it. They hissed and writhed around in annoyance, one of them even nipping at Gwyndolin’s hand. The Dark Sun had learned to control them, but they still had minds of their own at times. All it took was a bit of concentration, and the serpents settled down. With that issue resolved, they could move on to more important matters.

  
  


Gwyndolin wanted to check on Ornstein, and make sure that he was doing well. The injuries the dragon slayer had sustained were some of the worst they had ever seen. The pieces of his own armor that had been embedded in his legs made movement impossible, and his arm had been so savagely broken that they were concerned he would lose his ability to use it.

  
  


As they made their way to the room where Ornstein was resting, Gwyndolin thought about the Chosen Undead, and how he had stayed in the room as they had attended to Ornstein’s wounds. This one seemed to have something the other Undead that had escaped the Undead Asylum did not. Most were barely sane, often making selfish decisions that cost them dearly in the end. The few that did make it to Anor Londo were broken and beaten down from their travels. Most of the time, they would simply give up after a few attempts to procure the Lordvessel.

  
  


But this Undead was different.

  
  


He wasn’t a fighter. On the contrary, he was a coward. Unlike the other Undead, who charged into battle, this one ran away from powerful foes. So how had he managed to make it to Anor Londo, and even defeat Ornstein and Smough? What gave this Undead the determination to continue forward where others had fallen?

  
  


Well, it mattered not what motivated the Chosen Undead. He had fulfilled the prophecy, defeating those who were in possession of Lord Souls and unlocking the way to Lord Gwyn and the First Flame. 

  
  


As Gwyndolin entered Ornstein’s room, they were surprised to see that the Undead had not left the dragon slayer’s side. In fact, he had crawled into bed with him and fallen asleep. Ornstein had his arm curled around the smaller man, pulling him tighter into his chest. The Undead had a small smile on his face as he slept, as did Ornstein. The two looked happy.

  
  


_Well...I guess I can wait a while longer_

  
  


An hour later, Tempest’s eyes cracked open. He felt surprisingly well-rested. Last night had been the best sleep he had experienced in...however long he had been Undead for. He was about to get up when he realized two things: he had fallen asleep in his armor, and there was an arm wrapped around his chest.

  
  


The events of the past day flooded into his mind. He had tried to go hollow, but was stopped by Ornstein force-feeding him Estus via a kiss. Then Ornstein had almost died to a Black Knight, but Tempest has killed the knight with Ornstein’s spear. He had then teleported them to Gwyndolin who had helped Ornstein. After which he and Tempest had talked about what had just happened. Tempest had hugged the dragon slayer...and then must have fallen asleep, as he couldn’t remember anything past that. So that meant…

  
  


Tempest looked up, and sure enough, the sleeping face of Ornstein greeted him. He blinked a few times, not believing what he was seeing. He had fallen asleep in Ornstein’s arms.

  
  


Tempest decided to take in what he could before Ornstein woke up and he was inevitably pushed onto the floor for intruding into the dragon slayer’s space.

  
  


Most prominent was the feeling of Ornstein’s arm curled around the Undead’s chest, pulling Tempest closer and giving him a sense of security that he had only felt in his mother’s arms when he was a boy. He could hear Ornstein’s breathing and heartbeat, combining into a comforting rythme that made his eyelids heavy even though he had just woken up.

  
  


The heat of Ornstein’s body was better than any blanket, a warmth that could ward off even the most bitter cold. His scent was enticing. A mixture of sweat, metal, and herbs. Tempest buried his face into Ornstein’s chest, drinking the aroma in. 

  
  


Ornstein’s face was relaxed, a smile played out on his lips. With his sharp eyebrows and perpetual scowl, the dragon slayer always looked upset. So to see him so defenseless and relaxed was strange. His eyes were as green as ever, looking straight into the Undead’s...wait…

  
  


“Good morning, little Storm.”, Ornstein said.

  
  


“O...Ornstein! I’m sorry, I just…”

  
  


Rather than push the little Storm out of the bed, Ornstein pulled him closer. 

  
  


“What’s so interesting about my face, hm? Was I drooling?”, Ornstein joked.

  
  


“I...no, Ornstein. You weren’t drooling.”, Tempest said.

  
  


“Good. Because I’d have to kill you if you’d seen that.”

  
  


“Good luck with that, Ornstein. If I could die, I wouldn’t have made it out of the Asylum.”, Tempest said, earning a laugh from the dragon slayer.

  
  


“Ok, now I _know_ I’m dreaming. Was that an actual laugh? I thought you had your sense of humor removed at birth.” 

  
  


Ornstein’s chuckle turned into a cough as he realized that he was getting too involved with the little Storm.

  
  


_Just a sacrifice. That’s all he is._

  
  


“As much as I enjoy our banter, I’m in need of a bit of privacy.”

  
  


After a few moments, Tempest realized what Ornstein had meant.

  
  


“Oh, of course! Do you need help getting there?”

  
  


Ornstein looked at him with an incredulous look.

  
  


“Little Storm, I am twice your height. How would you be able to assist me? Besides, I won’t be needing your help.”

  
  


“I just thought you may have wanted some assistance, Ornstein.”, Tempest said, fidgeting with his hands and averting his gaze. “But I won’t help you if you don’t want it.”

  
  


Stepping back, Tempest watched as Ornstein struggled to stand, almost making it all the way up on several occasions, but always collapsing back onto the bed. 

  
  


“Alright, I concede. Please help me.”, Ornstein said, frustrated after numerous attempts to stand on his own.

  
  


“Well, if I remember correctly, you said that you didn’t want my help. Besides, you’re twice my height. How could I support you?”, the Undead said with a playful smile, using Ornstein’s words against him.

  
  


“Why you smug little..”, Ornstein said , lunging at the little Storm, who backed away from the bed even farther. “Come here and help me!”

  
  


“I’m going to make breakfast now, Ornstein. Hope you can take care of yourself before I get back!”, Tempest said with a laugh as he left the room.

  
  


“Idiot! Get back here!”, Ornstein raged, but the little Storm was already gone.

  
  
  


Sighing, Ornstein made another attempt at standing. This time, he was able to stay on his feet. His legs were extremely sore, but he was able to take a few wobbly steps to the door.

  
  


_That little idiot...why did he have to do that. Gods….bless him._

  
  


Ornstein couldn’t be mad at the little Storm, even if he wanted to be. His blue eyes and dumb smile melted the knight’s heart every time.

  
  


Ornstein slowly made his way out of his room, wincing at each step as he shuffled down the hall.

  
  


“Ornstein! What are you doing out of bed!?”

  
  


Gwyndolin rushed over to the knight, supporting Ornstein as he explained himself.

  
  


“I needed to um...relieve myself.”, Ornstein said.

  
  


“You do know that you have a chamber pot under your bed, right?”, Gwyndolin said.

  
  


“Oh...I wasn’t aware of that.”, Ornstein said sheepishly.

  
  


“No worries. Let’s get you back to your room and you can have some privacy there.”, said Gwyndolin. “I was just coming to change your bandages.”

  
  


Once he was back in his room, Ornstein did his business with some difficulty. Gwyndolin waited outside until he was done, then came back once he was finished and began to unwrap the wounds on his legs.

  
  


“I must thank you for your help yesterday. I’m already feeling better.”, Ornstein said. “My arm is still a bit tender, but my legs don’t hurt as bad as they did.”

  
  
  


“You’re welcome, Ornstein.”, Gwyndolin said. “It did help that I took the plates of armor out of your thighs. But are you sure it was I who made you feel better? Or was it your night spent with the Undead?”

  
  


Ornstein immediately turned a deep red as Gwyndolin continued.

  
  


“I won’t judge you on your interest in our Chosen Undead, but you know his fate as well as I. He is a _sacrifice,_ Ornstein. I know sometimes we cannot choose who we become interested in, but my advice is to not get attached.”

  
  


“I know, Gwyndolin.”, Ornstein said. “I’ve been telling myself that for a long time...but it hasn’t stopped me from getting too close…”

  
  
  


“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. He _has_ to burn, Ornstein.”

  
  


“I’ve made my promise to you. He will burn...but it won’t be easy.”, Ornstein said. “And I’ve been meaning to ask, how does the First Flame affect you? Would you lose your power if it were to go out? Like Lord Gwyn?”

  
  


“No, my powers are not linked to the First Flame.”, said Gwyndolin. “Unlike my father, I am a true deity. I do not draw from an exceptionally powerful soul as he did, but rather, my power is provided by the moon.” 

  
  


“So what you’re saying is that it doesn’t matter to you if the First Flame fades?”

  
  


Gwyndolin frowned. “Ornstein...it should not matter if I would be affected by the fading of the flame. You made a promise, and you are expected to keep it.”

  
  


“Do not worry, Gwyndolin.”, Ornstein said. “I plan to keep the promise I made. The little Storm will be escorted safely to the First Flame.”

  
  


“Good.”, Gwyndolin said, tightening the last bandage. “That should do it. You should be able to walk without much difficulty in a few days, but your arm will still take a while to heal.”

  
  


“How long do you think it will take?”

  
  


“A few weeks, at best.”, Gwyndolin said. “The break in your arm was one of the worst I’ve seen. There is a possibility that you may lose a great deal of function in that arm.”

“WHAT?! You can’t be serious about that!”, Ornstein said, his eyes wide with terror. “I can’t lose the ability to use my arm!”

  
  


“That doesn’t mean you won’t be able to use it. It just means that you won’t be able to do precise tasks or put it under a lot of pressure.”

  
  


“It better not affect my ability to fight.”, Ornstein said.

  
  


Gwyndolin began gathering up the old bandages. “It may do just that. I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen, but I make no promises. Now, you need to rest and heal. In the meantime, I’ll get your armor to the giant blacksmith for repairs.”

  
  


“You’re too kind, Gwyndolin.”

Gwyndolin smiled back at the dragon slayer. “Thank you, Ornstein. I must be going now. There’s an Undead who I’ve been following for some time, and I wish to check in on them. He’s quite the talented warrior, but a bit deranged as well. Always babbling about finding his own sun. I believe our Chosen Undead had several encounters with him. He’s a friendly fellow, but very misguided in his motivation. Such a shame.”

  
  


Shaking their head, Gwyndolin left Ornstein’s room. A few seconds later, his armor disappeared in a flash of light. 

  
  


Ornstein couldn’t lose the ability to use his arm. Especially since his right arm was his dominant arm. Relearning how to use his spear left-handed would make hundreds of years of training useless. One of the only things that he was proud of was his fighting ability. He couldn’t lose that. 

  
  


A rumble from his stomach pulled Ornstein from his thoughts. He hoped that the little Storm would bring him breakfast soon. 

  
  


_He has to burn, Ornstein._

  
  


Gwyndolin’s words echoed in his mind. Why did this have to be so complicated? After everything he and the little Storm had been through, why did it have to end in such a way? Ornstein wished he had never made that promise to Gwyndolin. He didn’t want the Undead to burn. But he was bound by his honor as a knight. 

  
  


Ornstein was so distracted by his thoughts that he didn’t notice the little Storm enter until he set a plate of eggs, bread, and ham onto Ornstein’s lap.

  
  


“Thank you, little Storm. I see you went with a simple meal this time?”, Ornstein said.

  
  


“Well, I wanted to get it to you as fast as possible. As my mother used to say, a hot meal heals injuries faster than any bandage or salve.”, Tempest said, his smile sending a tingle down Ornstein’s spine 

  
  


“I’m not sure how accurate that saying is,”, Ornstein said as he dug in. “But I’m thankful either way.”

  
  


Ornstein quickly realized that eating was difficult with only his left hand. He fumbled around for a while before Tempest couldn’t handle himself any longer and broke down laughing.

  
  


“What’s so funny, little Storm?”, Ornstein said.

  
  


“I’m sorry, Ornstein. It’s just that you look like you’re trying so hard and I just couldn’t help myself.”, said Tempest, still chuckling. “Here, let me help you.”

  
  


“I don’t need your help!”, said Ornstein, but it was too late. Tempest had gotten up onto the bed between Ornstein’s legs and grabbed the fork out of the knight’s hands.

  
  


“Look,”, Tempest said, gathering a bit of the eggs. “If you don’t eat these soon, they’ll get cold. So please, let me do this.”

  
  


Before Ornstein could protest, Tempest brought the fork up to the knight’s mouth, but Ornstein refused to open his mouth.

  
  


“Come on, Ornstein! You have to eat”

  
  


Ornstein shook his head, his lips sealed 

  
  


“Why won’t you let me feed you?”, Tempest asked.

  
  


“Because,”, Ornstein said. “I don’t waMPH!”

  
  


Tempest had shoved the food into Ornstein’s mouth and covered it with his hand to prevent the dragon slayer from spitting it out. Ornstein thrashed around, trying to shake the Undead off of him, until the little Storm’s knee connected with Ornstein’s crotch.

  
  


Ornstein grunted, his eyes widening as he finally swallowed the food and threw the little Storm off of him with his good arm. Tempest was about to ask what was wrong when he noticed where the dragon slayer now had his hand.

  
  


“Did I…”, Tempest said. All Ornstein could do was give the little Storm a quick nod. 

  
  


“I’m so sorry, Ornstein! I didn’t mean to, I swear! Please forgive me!”, the little Storm blubbered. “I just wanted to make sure you ate!”

  
  


“You IDIOT!”, Ornstein yelled. “I said I could handle it, but you just _had_ to help!”

  
  


“I’m...I’m sorry, Ornstein. I just wanted to help..”

  
  


“As if I wasn’t in enough pain already, now this!?”, Ornstein said. “My luck lately has been wonderful.”

  
  


Ornstein would have continued if he hadn’t noticed the tears welling up in the little Storm’s eyes. 

  
  


“I...I didn’t mean to hurt you more…”, Tempest whispered, barely holding back his tears.

  
  
  


“I’m sorry, little Storm.”, Ornstein said, guilt instantly replacing his anger. “It’s alright, I’m fine.”

  
  


“But it’s not, Ornstein! All I’ve done lately is make your life worse!”

  
  


The little Storm slumped onto the floor, tears now flowing as he put his head in his hands.

  
  


“I’m such a damn failure!”, Tempest cried. “Everything I do just makes the situation worse! I can’t even fight properly. You always have to bail me out, Ornstein!”

  
  


Tempest curled up into a ball, hugging his legs to his chest.

  
  


“At this rate,”, he whispered. “You’ll never like me…”

  
  


Ornstein was already getting out of his bed to comfort the little Storm, but when he heard those words, he practically threw himself out of his bed. He got down next to the little Storm and pulled him into a hug.

  
  


“W...what are you doing, Ornstein?”, Tempest stuttered. “Why would you even touch me after everything I’ve done to you?”

  
  


“Because, little Storm, I don’t care if you hurt me.”, Ornstein said.

  
  


Tempest looked up at the dragon slayer. “W...why not?”

  
  


Ornstein looked down at the smaller Undead, a warm smile on his face. “Because I can’t be mad at you. I could never hold a grudge against you. You make this life bearable. I don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to detach myself from you.”

  
  


By now, Tempest’s tears had stopped and he was listening intently to Ornstein, a small amount of hope beginning to build in his chest. 

  
  


“After what happened yesterday, I’ve been thinking about what you said. I haven’t been fair to you. You’ve tried to be friendly and I kept shutting you out. I was wrong to do so.”

  
  


Tempest’s feeling of hope was growing faster now, feeling like it would burst out of his chest.

  
  


“You came into my life so suddenly, and at first I wanted nothing to do with you. I was prideful and arrogant, and I regret my actions. But as we began our adventure, I started to see you for who you were. I began to admire you for your ‘never give up’ attitude.”

  
  


At this point, there was only one question on Tempest’s mind

  
  


“I feel awful for making you feel like you weren’t good enough. I want you to know that you will always be enough to me, and that will never change.”

  
  


_Could it really be?_

  
  


“Ornstein, do you…”, Tempest said, his big blue eyes full of want and hope.

  
  


Ornstein held the little Storm at arms length, his eyes full of adoration.

  
  


“Yes, my little Storm. I do like you.”

  
  


Instantly, Tempest was on top of Ornstein, hugging him as tears began anew. He tried to speak, but the Undead couldn’t manage a single word.

  
  


After a while, the little Storm’s tears finally ceased. Tempest still couldn’t believe what Ornstein had just confessed.

  
  


_Ornstein likes me!_

  
  


If he had been told that Ornstein had feelings for him a week ago, Tempest wouldn’t have believed them. But it was true! Then again...maybe the dragon slayer had just told him that to calm him down.

  
  


“Ornstein? Are...are you sure?”, Tempest asked.

  
  


“About what I said? Of course. Why would I lie about such a thing?”, Ornstein said.

  
  


“Well, it just seemed so sudden.”, Tempest said. “You don’t have to do this for my sake, you know. I know I can’t be like Smough or your master. I’m not as strong or as tall. I’m not like them in any way.”

  
  


“I could care less if you’re like Smough or my master.”, Ornstein said. “I like you for who YOU are.”

  
  


“But...are you sure you’re ready for this?”, Tempest said. “It hasn’t been very long since you lost Smough.”

  
  


“Well, I think Smough wouldn’t want me to mourn him forever.”, Ornstein said. “Yes, I loved him, and yes, it was hard to see him go...but I can’t do anything about it.”

  
  


“But…”

  
  


Ornstein put a finger up to Tempest’s lips.

  
  


“No more but’s, my little Storm. Just enjoy the moment.”

  
  


As Ornstein held Tempest, his mind was in turmoil. He had been so sure in himself, but the little Storm’s questions had made him think. Was he ready to move on? The day that he had lost Smough seemed so long ago, even though it had been only a few weeks since then. 

  
  


As the pair held one another, Ornstein was transported back to the morning of that day. The day that Smough died. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly the phrase "my little Storm" gives me life! Finally, Ornstein stopped denying his own feelings!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smough comforts Ornstein before a particular Undead arrives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorter chapter today! 
> 
> As always, check out MrsLittletall's works!

Smough couldn’t get back to sleep. Ornstein had been thrashing all night, which made it impossible to get more than a few hours of sleep. Finally, he decided to get up for the day, leaving the kitten in bed and going through his morning routine. He knew it wouldn’t be more than an hour until Ornstein woke up, as the dragon slayer could barely sleep without Smough by his side.

  
  


Soon, Smough found himself in the kitchen, cooking up breakfast when Ornstein walked in. He looked as if he had just gotten out of bed. His hair was a complete mess and he still had Smough’s shirt on. 

  
  


“Good morning, Ornstein.”, Smough said. “Did you sleep well last night?”

  
  


Of course, Smough knew the answer before he asked the question. Ornstein wasn’t the type of person to say what was troubling him. It had to be coaxed out of him.

.

“I slept fine.”, Ornstein said. 

  
  


“Well, you were quite active then.”, Smough said. “You woke me up several times with your thrashing.”

  
  


“Oh, I’m sorry.”, Ornstein said sheepishly. “I just...I had a nightmare.”

  
  


“A nightmare, you say? What about?”, Smough said. 

  
  


“Well...I saw us fighting an Undead, and they killed us.”

  
  


Smough laughed. “Is that what you’re worried about? We have faced dozens of Undead, and not one has come close to killing either one of us.”

  
  


“But this was different! They wouldn’t stop coming back, and eventually they killed us. It seemed so real…”

  
  


“Ornstein,”, Smough said. “We’ll be fine.”

  
  


“But what if we aren’t? What then?”

  
  


“Well...I guess we have to accept that.”, Smough said. “It’s a risk we take every day when we step into the cathedral.”

  
  


“But….I don’t want to lose you….”, Ornstein said, the fear apparent in his voice.

  
  


“Don’t worry, kitten. We’ve known that one day we would be defeated for a long time. If that time is soon, so be it.”

  
  


“Are you afraid of dying at all?”, Ornstein said.

  
  


“No, I’m not.”, said Smough. “If we die, it means that we met a foe that was our superior. There’s no shame in being defeated by someone who outclassed you.”

  
  


“I...I just don’t want that time to be now…”, Ornstein said.

  
  


Smough walked over to the dragon slayer, kneeling down and placing a hand on Ornstein’s cheek. “I understand. But we can’t live in fear of what the day brings. I’m sorry that these dreams have affected you in this way, but we have to keep doing our duty.”

  
  


Ornstein leaned into Smough’s touch, nuzzling his hand. “I guess you’re right. I can’t let a nightmare get in the way of my task.”

  
  


A crash emanated from outside of the cathedral, Ornstein jumping at the sound.

  
  


“That was one of the giant sentinels. There must be an Undead close.”, Smough said.

  
  


Ornstein gripped the hand on the side of his face. “How could they have gotten so close without us noticing? I haven’t heard any sounds of combat for weeks!”

  
  


Smough stood up quickly and blew out the flame on the stove. “Either they’re a stealthy one, or they’ve run away from everything.”

  
  


“That would explain their sudden appearance.”

  
  


“But it doesn’t matter how they got here. We need to be ready.”, Smough said.

  
  


“Right.”, Ornstein said. A little part of him was still afraid, especially now that an Undead was closing in. But he had his duty. He needed to protect the cathedral with his life.

  
  


Ornstein raced out of the kitchen, making his way to the room where he stored his armor. Smough’s armor was too big to be kept in the same room, so he would leave it right in the cathedral, along with his hammer. Ornstein hurriedly put his armor on. The sounds of combat were coming closer, and he only had moments before the Undead would enter the cathedral.

  
  


In his rush, Ornstein had not completely tightened one of the straps on his breastplate. It left a small gap between the breastplate and the pauldron, but he wasn’t worried. It was a weak spot for sure, and a precise strike could end up injuring the dragon slayer, but it was such a small spot and in such a strange place that it was unlikely to be a problem. 

  
  


Ornstein grabbed his spear and ran to the cathedral, taking a shortcut that would lead him to a balcony that he could then jump off of and wait for the Undead.

  
  


He was almost at the balcony when he heard the sound of the Undead breaching through the fog gate.

  
  


The Undead wasn’t anything to look at. They wore the armor of a knight, and had a katana and a shield as their weapons. They stood at the entrance, staring at Smough, who had made it to the cathedral before Ornstein.

  
  


The Undead quickly noticed Ornstein, and he swore he heard the Undead emit an undignified squeak of terror as the dragon slayer jumped down from his perch. Smough brought up his hammer, displaying his strength as he readied himself for combat.

  
  


The Undead gave a half-hearted battlecry as he ran towards their adversaries. They were met halfway by Ornstein, the spear of the dragon slayer piercing their armor. The Undead screamed in agony as they collapsed, their form dissolving as they were transported back to the bonfire.

  
  


Ornstein stood in the middle of the cathedral for a moment before bursting out in a fit of laughter.

  
  


“You cannot be serious! That’s all it took to kill that one? This might be an easy Undead to take care of, Smough!”

  
  


“Perhaps, Ornstein.”, Smough said. “They did seem like they were not prepared to face us.”

  
  


Ornstein’s fear of losing Smough was now just a faint voice in the back of his head. He had no reason to worry. This Undead would be no issue for them to take down.

  
  


\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


They had spent the entire day fighting the Undead. No matter how many times they impaled, squashed, stabbed, bludgeoned, or electrocuted the Undead, they always came back.

  
  


And, not only did the Undead continue to return to the cathedral, they had learned from each of their defeats. The same Undead who had cluelessly charged into battle was now becoming a serious threat. 

  
  


The last encounter with the Undead had left both Ornstein and Smough drained. Their supply of divine blessings was running dangerously low, only enough for a few more fights. This Undead would have to hollow out soon.

  
  


Once again, the Undead broke through the fog. As they did, Ornstein turned to Smough.

  
  


“Well, here we go again.”, he said as he readied his spear.

  
  


“Stay safe, kitten.”, Smough said. “I love you.”

  
  


“I love you too, Smough.”

  
  


Together, they charged towards the Undead one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How Tempest managed to defeat Ornstein and Smough with that setup is beyond me...


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempest return to the Kiln to retrieve Ornstein's spear. Chaos ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter! Life got busy and I drifted away from my writing for a while. But hopefully now I'll be able to make regular updates to this fic!
> 
> As always, check out MrsLittletall's works!

The sentinel swung it’s halberd in a wide arc, catching Tempest as he rolled away. The blunt head of the weapon didn’t even cut through his armor, but the force of the blow was enough to break Tempest’s shin.

  
  


Tempest had been practicing against the sentinels for the last few hours. He hadn’t improved much, but he was starting to spot some of the things that Ornstein had told him about.

  
  


Tempest sipped his Estus as the sentinel approached. The feeling of bones knitting themselves back together was still surreal, but the pain that had once accompanied it had diminished to a bearable point. He remembered the first time he had used Estus to fix the broken ankle he received from falling off of a cliff overlooking the graveyard in Firelink. The pain had been worse than actually breaking it in the first place.

  
  


Tempest scrambled to the left, the ground shaking as the sentinel slammed it’s shield into the spot he had been standing in just a moment before.

  
  


Trying to get in close, Tempest rolled forward as he saw the sentinel wind up for what he thought was another sweeping attack. 

  
  


However, he soon realized that he had made a mistake as the spearhead of the sentinel’s halberd was thrust into his chest.

  
  


_ Not again _ , Tempest thought as he began to fade out. He still couldn’t tell the difference between the sweeping attack and the thrusting attack, and had been impaled several times as a result.

  
  


As Tempest reappeared at the bonfire, he silently chastised himself as he pulled off his helm and grabbed a humanity, using it to regain his human form. Why couldn’t he see the difference between the attack windups? Ornstein would laugh at him for being such an idiot if he knew….

  
  


“Hello, little Storm. Have you been sparring with the sentinels? Or perhaps the Batwing demons?”

  
  


_ Speak of the devil. _

  
  


Ornstein had been standing off in the shadows of the Silver Knight tomb, apparently waiting for Tempest to come back.

  
  


“Ornstein! What are you doing out of bed?!”, Tempest said. “You need to rest!”

  
  


Ornstein chuckled. “I don’t think sitting around is going to heal a broken bone any faster.”

  
  


“That’s not what I’m talking about Ornstein. Your legs need to heal.”, Tempest said.

  
  


“Oh, do they now?”, Ornstein said. “If they needed to heal, would I be able to do this?”

  
  


Tempest barely had time to register what Ornstein had said before the dragon slayer was at his side, his good arm resting on top of the smaller man’s head. 

  
  


Tempest swatted Ornstein’s hand off of his head as he glared at the dragon slayer.

  
  


“How did your legs heal so fast?”, Tempest said.

  
  


“Haven’t I told you already, little Storm?”, Ornstein said. “I heal far faster than humans do. My arm should be healed in a few weeks. As for my legs, the wounds were deep enough to impede my ability to walk, but once the armor plates were removed it didn’t take long for them to heal.”

  
  


“That’s great!”, Tempest exclaimed. “But I still think that you should be resting. It can’t hurt, right?”

  
  


“Little Storm, I’ve been resting for almost a week. Besides, there’s a bigger issue that needs my attention.”

  
  


Tempest crossed his arms. “And what could be more important than your health, Ornstein?”, he said curtly.

  
  


“The location of my spear, of course.”, Ornstein said.

  
  


_ “Seriously?!” _ , Tempest said. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

  
  


“What else would I be worried about?”

  
  


“Oh, I don’t know, maybe your recovery?”, Tempest said exasperatedly.

  
  


“You know, I wouldn’t have to worry about my spear if you had grabbed it, little Storm.”

  
  


“Oh…I’m sorry.”, Tempest said, suddenly interested in the ground. “I didn’t really think about grabbing it before we left…”

  
  


“No need to be sorry. You were focused on helping me. But now that I’m not dying, I need it back.”

  
  


“Well...then I’ll go get it.”, Tempest said. “You can’t do it because of your arm, and I lost it in the first place.”

  
  


“Oh, I could likely retrieve it by myself, even with my broken arm.”, Ornstein said. “But I’ll let you do it. You need practice against tougher enemies anyways. The sentinels are hardly a challenge.”

  
  


Tempest was about to say that the sentinels were more than a challenge for him, but he stopped himself. If Ornstein knew how much he was struggling against them, the teasing would never cease.

  
  


“....You’re awful.”

  
  


Ornstein smiled. “I know. You’d best be on your way.”, he said as he turned toward the Darkmoon Tomb.

  
  


“But I will need one thing before I go, Ornstein.”

  
  


“And what would that be?”, Ornstein said.

  
  


He turned to see a flash of black leather as Tempest jumped onto him, arms wrapping around his neck. 

  
  


“Nothing much.”, Tempest said, burying his face into the dragon slayer’s neck. “Just a hug.”

  
  


Ornstein let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr, placing his head on top of Tempest’s. 

  
  


“You don’t have to ask for those, you know.”, Ornstein said, supporting the little Storm with his good arm.

  
  


“You may regret that statement, Ornstein.”, Tempest said. “I don’t think you could handle the amount of hugs I can give.”

  
  


“Is that so?”, Ornstein said, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Then you wouldn’t have an issue if we made this into a competition of sorts?”

  
  


“Of course not.”

  
  


“Well then, how about the first one to refuse a hug has to wash the other’s feet.”, Ornstein said. 

  
  


Tempest jerked back, nearly losing his grip around Ornstein’s neck.

  
  


“W...what? I...I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Ornstein.”, Tempest stuttered.

  
  


“Well, you could always just admit that I can handle more hugs than you, little Storm.”, Ornstein said. “You wouldn’t do that over something as simple as washing my feet, would you?”

  
  


“N...no…”, Tempest whispered.

  
  


“It’s settled, then! First one to refuse a hug has to wash the other’s feet.”

  
  


Secretly, Tempest  _ hated  _ feet. There was a time when he was still working at his mother’s tavern that he had dropped a plate. He was cleaning it up when he saw a man’s bare feet underneath the table next to him. They were ghastly. The nails were thick and yellow, and there was fungus all over them. But the worst part was the smell. It was a mix of rotting garbage and mildew. Tempest had vomited on the spot. Ever since, he couldn’t look at anyone’s bare feet without vomiting. He couldn’t lose this competition. 

  
  


“Fine.”, Tempest said, nuzzling his face back into Ornstein’s neck. “But be prepared to lose.”

  
  


“You wish, little Storm.”, Ornstein said.

  
  


The couple held their embrace for a few minutes. Tempest enjoyed the larger size of his new partner. He felt like a lamb being picked up by a shepherd. As long as he was in Ornstein’s arms, he felt like nothing would ever hurt him.

  
  


“I should probably get going.”, Tempest said.

  
  


“Can’t you wait just a bit longer?”, Ornstein said in a pleading voice.

  
  


“Ornstein, I thought retrieving your spear was of utmost importance. I can’t get your spear if you don’t let me go.”

  
  


“Oh...right..”, Ornstein said sheepishly

  
  


Tempest let go of Ornstein’s neck, falling to the ground. He made his way over to the bonfire, putting his helm on and placed his hand in the flames, but pulled it out before he was warped away.

  
  


“This shouldn’t take long.”, Tempest said. “But if it does take me a few tries to get the spear, you’re on your own for lunch, Ornstein.”

  
  


“Well...let’s hope you’re back in time.”, Ornstein said, a shiver going down his spine as he imagined having to eat something he cooked.

  
  


Tempest chuckled. “I’ll try to be.”

  
  


Tempest placed his hand in the flames of the bonfire, warping to the Firelink Altar. 

  
  


Once Tempest appeared at the Lordvessel, he drew his sword and ran down the steps to the kiln, but stopped when he saw the ghostly knights. They were as fascinating as ever..

  
  


Tempest wasn’t  _ really  _ under any time constraint, so he took a few minutes to gawk at the knights. The way they moved silently, shimmering like a mirage as they walked was intriguing. 

  
  


After a while, Tempest finally pulled his eyes away from the knights and made his way down the rest of the staircase. He tripped on the last step, tumbling headfirst into the ground. His ears popped and metallic taste filled his mouth. After a moment, his face exploded into a familiar pain.

  
  


He brought his hand up to his nose. The bone ground painfully against itself as he moved the appendage. 

  
  


“Not again…”, Tempest said, bringing his bloody hand away from his face. “At least I have Estus this time.”

  
  


After a quick sip from his flask, Tempest stood and made his way towards the Kiln. The scenery was still as breathtaking as it had been when he had first stepped off of the staircase. Of course, last time Ornstein had ruined the moment by comparing the beauty of the Kiln to Tempest and then denying that he had said anything of the sort.

  
  


As he continued forward, Tempest admired the complete silence of the landscape. It gave the hills of ash a serene feeling. If there weren’t several Black Knights in the area, he would almost call it a peaceful place.

  
  


Tempest’s daydream was interrupted by the sound of armor plates scraping together. He had come into sight of the first Black Knight, and it was running towards him, shield raised. He brought his own shield up and stood his ground, letting the knight come to him.

  
  


The knight drew back it’s sword, still running towards Tempest. Then, once it was close enough, the Black Knight thrust forward. 

  
  


_ Easy. _

  
  


Tempest parried the thrust, riposting the knight. It fell to the ground, the unnatural shriek sounding as the Black Knight dissolved. 

  
  


“One down, two to go.”

  
  


Tempest continued on, quickly coming across the second knight.

  
  


Tempest had never fought the knights with the larger swords, usually leaving them to Ornstein to take care of. But now he had to face this one on his own. The dragon slayer was much stronger than he was, but even he struggled with the sheer force of the blows these knights could deal. His instincts kicked in, and Tempest did what he did best.

  
  


He ran.

  
  


He ran straight past the Black Knight, narrowly avoiding an attack as he rushed by.

  
  


Once he was out of sight of the knight, Tempest stopped to catch his breath.

  
  


“I’ve still got it.”, he said to himself.

  
  


Continuing on, it wasn’t long before Tempest ran into the third Black Knight. Just like the first knight, he parried it. This knight left it’s shield behind as it dissolved. He would have to come back for it later.

  
  


Now came the dangerous part.

  
  


The Black Knight with the greataxe stood on the walkways as it had before, silently waiting for Tempest to approach. He could see Ornstein’s spear on the ground, half covered in ash.

  
  


Tempest approached gingerly, trying to give the knight as few reasons as possible to attack him. He was about to grab the spear when the knight charged towards him. 

  
  


Tempest fell backwards in his rush to get as far away from the knight as possible. The knight loomed above him. He tried to get up, but the knight kicked him in the chest with enough force to send him tumbling backward, his ribs cracking underneath the pressure of the blow.

  
  


Tempest looked up through the haze of pain to see the Black Knight leap into the air, it’s axe held high above his head. 

  
  


_ “Ah, shit…” _ , Tempest thought as the knight brought it’s axe down onto his chest. His ribs splintered, the axe cleaving his sternum in twain. The pain was like nothing he had felt before. He had been crushed underneath the weight of the massive demon that guarded the Asylum and impaled by several foes, but this was worse. It was like he was being torn in half. He found himself thankful when the chill of death overtook him and his vision faded.

  
  


Tempest woke up a few minutes later at the bonfire. His chest was still sore from the impact of both the knight’s boot and it’s axe. He was about to grab another humanity when he stopped himself. He would probably die several more times before he actually got the spear, so there was no point in wasting it.

  
  


“This is going to be a  _ long  _ day.”, he grumbled.

  
  


\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Tempest had spent the entire day trying again and again to retrieve Ornstein’s spear. He had managed to move the weapon a few feet away from its original position, but he had failed to actually get away from the knight on each attempt so far. He had been beheaded, had limbs chopped off, and had nearly been cut in half on several occasions. At one point, he had accidentally rolled off the edge of the chasm. Needless to say, he was glad Ornstein had not been present during the entire ordeal.

  
  


Tempest reappeared at the bonfire once again, groaning as he stood. The most recent encounter with the Black Knight had seen him relieved of his right leg. His knee felt stiff, and an audible creak emanated from it whenever he moved. 

  
  


“One more attempt today, and then I’m done.”, Tempest said to himself.

  
  


Tempest made his way back down the staircase. As he approached the Black Knight, his body reacted before his mind could. He had gotten used to the same routine throughout the day, waiting for the knight to approach, parry it’s initial attack, and ripost. Before he knew it, the knight had fallen, and he moved on.

  
  


Just as he had every other time, Tempest ran past the greatsword-wielding Black Knight. The knight had caught him as he ran by last time. The tip of the sword, despite its sharp appearance, acted more like a hammer than a sword. He had been sent sprawling to the ground by the impact, and was barely able to get back on his feet in time to avoid another attack.

  
  


This time, the Black Knight missed it’s attack, and Tempest was able to get by unharmed. From there, he was able to dispose of the third knight before once again approaching the spear and the Black Knight that had thwarted every attempt to take it.

  
  


The knight turned towards Tempest as he quietly inched closer and closer towards the spear. He was able to grasp it without taking his eyes off of the knight, slowly dragging the weapon backwards.

  
  


Once he was a good distance away, Tempest breathed a sigh of relief. He hefted the spear up, having to use two hands to lift it. The fact that Ornstein was able to use it with one hand was still amazing to him. He had finally done it! Ornstein was going to be happy to have his spear back. He entertained thoughts of immense gratitude from the dragon slayer all the way back to the Lordvessel.

  
  


A few minutes later, Tempest appeared at the Silver Knight Tomb. He looked around, checking to see if Ornstein was around. He had hoped for him to be there to greet him.

  
  


Tempest was a bit disappointed to see that Ornstein was not present, but it wasn’t the end of the world. How would he have known when Tempest would arrive? He was probably just resting in the Darkmoon Tomb.

  
  


Tempest made his way into the tomb, jogging down the hall and into the room at the end, where the Dark Sun sat, drinking a cup of tea. 

  
  


“Ah, Chosen Undead. You’re back.”, they said.

  
  


“Just had to retrieve Ornstein’s spear.”, Tempest said, bowing. “Took a bit longer than I would have liked, but I got it. Speaking of which, where is he?”

  
  


“Oh, Ornstein? He’s up in the cathedral.”

  
  


“Shouldn’t he be resting?”

  
  


The Dark Sun frowned. “I told him that he needs to rest, but Ornstein isn’t one to just sit around unless his injuries are severe enough. To him, a broken arm is not a reason to lay in bed.”

  
  


“I’m not surprised, honestly.”, Tempest said. “Well, I should probably go give him his spear.”

  
  


“I’m sure he will be most pleased to have it back in his possession.”

  
  


Tempest bowed and began to leave when the Dark Sun called out to him.

  
  


“One more thing. I realized that I have not told you this yet, but thank you.”

  
  


Tempest turned, a quizzical look on his face.

  
  


“Uhh...what are you thanking me for, exactly?”, he said.

  
  


“Thank you for what you have done. Your sacrifice will save the Age of Fire.”

  
  


“Oh, well...you’re welcome.”, Tempest said.

  
  


With that, Tempest turned and walked out of the Darkmoon Tomb.

  
  


It took him until he was on the huge rotating platform to realize what the Dark Sun had said.

  
  


_ Your sacrifice will save the Age of Fire. _

  
  


Sacrifice? Frampt hadn’t said anything about a sacrifice. If he had, Tempest probably would have refused to keep going on his quest. Perhaps he misheard the Dark Sun. Or maybe they were talking about how many times he had died. If that was the case, then there really wasn’t a reason to thank him. He was Undead, so it wasn’t like death had consequences. Besides, if there was a sacrifice that was necessary to link the flame, Ornstein of all people would have told him, right?

  
  


Tempest pushed the thoughts out of his mind as he stepped off of the platform and walked up the steps to the cathedral. The giant sentinels turned towards him as he came into view. In the great hall, he could see the royal sentinels standing guard as well.

  
  


Despite all of his practice against them, Tempest still felt like he couldn’t defeat four of them in quick succession. However, he could still run. He had run past every sentinel when he first arrived in Anor Londo, so he could run past four more. Besides, it wasn’t like Ornstein would find out. 

  
  


Without wasting another moment, Tempest sprinted past the first two sentinels before they could even swing at him. The royal sentinels, however, turned when they heard his feet pounding on the stone flags and were in prime position to kill him if he made a wrong move.

  
  


The first sentinel missed with their halberd, and the second almost caught him in a massive explosion of energy. But Tempest managed to get past them and entered the cathedral. Inside, he heard the faint sounds of someone moving around on the upper level.

  
  


Tempest walked over to one of the elevators, taking it up to the balcony. When he stepped off, he saw Ornstein pacing back and forth in front of the bonfire. His helmet was laying on the ground nearby. There was a Silver Knight spear embedded in the wall, and the shards of a broken vase were scattered across the floor. 

  
  


“Ornstein?”, Tempest said, obviously concerned. “What happened here?”

  
  


Ornstein whipped around at the sound of Tempest’s voice. 

  
  


“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!?”, he shouted, stomping over to Tempest and shoving him against the wall. 

  
  


“Do you have ANY idea how long you’ve been gone?!”, Ornstein said. “You had me worried sick!”

  
  


While Ornstein tried to make Tempest think he was angry, his eyes told a different story. They were wet, full of fear and sadness. A half-dried teartrack ran down his cheek.

  
  


“Ornstein…”

  
  


“I thought you had hollowed, or that you were trapped somewhere, or that you had...that you had linked the flame…”, he said, his voice dropping off.

  
  


“I didn’t mean to make you worry, Ornstein.”, Tempest said. “I’m sorry that I took so long. But, to be fair, that Black Knight did almost kill you.”

  
  


“...That’s a good point.”, Ornstein mumbled.

  
  


“I can see you took your frustration out on the wall and the decor.”, Tempest said. “Honestly, the fact that you managed to embed that spear in the wall is quite impressive.”

  
  


“Oh...that. I...I can’t really…”, Ornstein stammered.

  
  


“You find it hard to face difficult things like your emotions, so you deal with them in the only way you could, through physical means?”

  
  


Ornstein looked at the little Storm like he had just grown another head.

  
  


“Well, this isn’t usually how I deal with these types of situations, but you’re right. How did you know?”

  
  


Tempest smiled. “I did something similar for a while. Whenever I was dealing with something tough, I would take a single piece of whatever I was cooking like a noodle or a piece of chicken and burn it. I don’t really know why, but it always helped. I would imagine that whatever I was burning was the thing that was bothering me. It felt good to watch it burn, almost like a little bit of the problem I was facing burned away with it.”

  
  


“But...you don’t do that any more?”

  
  


“Well, I did a few times while we were training, but I don’t have a reason to do it ever again.”, Tempest said.

  
  


“And why’s that?”

  
  


Tempest laughed and pulled Ornstein into a hug.

  
  


“Because I have everything I’ll ever need right here.”, Tempest said. “I don’t need to burn food anymore because I can talk to you about things that are troubling me instead.”

  
  


Ornstein stood stunned as Tempest hugged his midsection. Was he really that important to the little Storm?

  
  


As Tempest nuzzled up against Ornstein’s torso, a loud growl emanated from the dragon slayer’s stomach.

  
  


“Ornstein, did you eat ANYTHING while I was gone?”

  
  


“...No…”, Ornstein said timidly.

  
  


“Seriously?! You’re still healing and you haven’t eaten today?! I’m making you something right now!”, Tempest exclaimed, already making his way towards the kitchen.

  
  


“Before you do, could you return to your human form, little Storm?”, Ornstein said. “Not to be rude, but you look like an overcooked piece of bacon.”

  
  


Tempest looked back at Ornstein. If he had eyes, they would have been glaring at the dragon slayer.

  
  


“You’re lucky I like you, or you might have never gotten this back.”, Tempest said, approaching the bonfire and gabbing Ornstein’s spear out of the bottomless box.

  
  


Ornstein reached out to grab the spear, but Tempest pulled it away.

  
  


“I require payment for my services.”, he said with a smirk on his face.

  
  


Ornstein rolled his eyes. “What sort of payment?”

  
  


“A hug.”

  
  


“Return to your human form, and then I might think about it.”

  
  


“You know, you should learn to like my hollowed form as well, Ornstein.”, Tempest said.

  
  


“I just prefer your human form. I’m not saying I don’t like your hollowed form, just that it’s not my preference.”

  
  


Tempest chuckled. “It’s alright. I don’t really like it either. Like you said, I do look like a burnt piece of bacon.”

  
  


Tempest grabbed a humanity, crushing it in his palm and sacrificed it in the bonfire. After a few moments, a flash of white light enveloped him.

  
  


“Well? Do you want your spear or not?”, Tempest said.

  
  


Ornstein smiled and grabbed Tempest in a one-armed hug, lifting him off of the ground. The smaller man moved to bury his head in Ornstein’s neck, but was stopped by the dragon slayer planting a tender kiss on his lips.

  
  


Tempest’s eyes widened. He had been kissed by Ornstein before, but that was just to save him. This time was different. Not only was there no Estus involved, but this kiss felt….pure. 

  
  


As Ornstein pulled away, Tempest could only stare at him, dumbfounded.

  
  


“Thank you for getting my spear back, little Storm.”, Ornstein said, still smiling.

  
  


“Uh....of course.”, Tempest said dumbly.

  
  


Ornstein laughed. “Was that your first kiss, little Storm?”

  
  


“N...no…”, Tempest said sheepishly. “I just…”

  
  


“No need to explain yourself.”, Ornstein said. “I think I understand.”

  
  


Ornstein’s stomach let out a loud gurgle.

  
  


“So...about that food…”, Ornstein said. “I could really use something to eat, if you would be so kind.”

  
  


Tempest laughed. “Set me down and I’ll make you something.”

  
  


“Not a chance.” Ornstein said. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.”

  
  


“What do you…”, Tempest began.

  
  


“Shush, little Storm.”, Ornstein said, squeezing the Undead in his arms a bit tighter. “I’m carrying you to the kitchen and that’s that.”

  
  


“...Fine.”

  
  


With that, Ornstein began to walk towards the kitchen, the little Storm in his arms and a huge smile on his face.

  
  



End file.
